


Up All Night

by Creme13rulee



Series: Big Bangs [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Canon Related, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Depression, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Medical Trauma, Minor Character Death, Multi, POV Victor Nikiforov, Recovery, Romantic Fluff, Vicchan Lives, canon occurs in lucid dreams, canon-parallel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-07-13 06:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 42,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16012265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creme13rulee/pseuds/Creme13rulee
Summary: I I fell in love with a ghost/ out under the moonlightLost, uninspired and trapped by depression, Viktor spends a late night alone at the rink when he feels a presence.  The Japanese skater appears in his dreams- and doesn’t leave. But when Viktor is ready to chase Yuuri into his beautiful purgatory, he finds out the truth is a lot more awful and wonderful than he thought.Inspired by the Owl City song Up All NightCompleteFic Art By AntaresPromise!





	1. I fell in love with a ghost

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This was originally a big bang project. It is complete (~47k words and 15 chapters), and I will post two chapters a week. Chapter titles are based off of Owl City lyrics. Chapter 1- Up All Night.
> 
> Thank you to my beta reader Addy for making this make sense! Thank you Nao for commenting and keeping me motivated over this project!!
> 
> Art may be coming in October. In the meantime, check out the playlist for this fic: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLznWEJyy7w7JaYgpGuGExm7n94AeuqVEi
> 
> Fic Art by https://antarespromise.tumblr.com/<3!!!

The sun had set a long time ago. Viktor hadn’t been awake for it, however--- it was a rest day, and he had spent most of the day asleep on the couch. If it wasn’t for Makkachin, he wouldn’t have left his apartment at all. Sunrise or sunset, it didn’t matter. Viktor was out of sync with the rest of the world in more ways than one. What did it matter? He showed up to practice, he went to competitions. He won gold.   To the outside world, there was nothing to worry about. Melatonin didn’t worry the skating federation drug panels. Viktor rarely needed it, pushed to bed by exhaustion and depression. Makkachin was the only one who knew the truth.

 

Victor was in love with the vivid dream world he only saw deep in sleep. It had started in April. In St. Petersburg, it was still icy and gray. In Viktor’s dreams, it was snowy too—over pink blossoms and steaming water. The dreams that usually slipped from his memory the second Makkachin pressed a wet nose into his palm started to linger.  He woke up with the taste of champagne in his mouth and a floating feeling in his chest. Only a vague recollection of dancing and sparkling brown eyes lingered past his eyes opening to the waking world.

 

Viktor thirsted for more-- to feel the body of the Japanese skater press against his, to feel the room spin as he dipped him to the floor. But for a week, nothing came. He felt as lost in the morning as he did going through the movements of a typical day. He had given up  on having a vivid taste of his favorite dream world when it happened.

Viktor closed his eyes and was back in Hasetsu--a town he was sure he had never visited (He’d been to Nagano for competitions, but never long enough to sightsee) with the same gorgeous man he had danced with in his dreams so many nights before. Of course his own conscious would play a cruel joke on him—he fell in love with a man of his dreams only to be rejected outright. Even in his own dreams he could not get someone to fall in love with him. He proposed coaching, buck naked and dripping wet, to no avail. The shame of the off-the-mark approach remained long after Viktor woke up. But he didn’t want to leave. He returned to the dreams nightly, just to see Yuuri.

  The dreams were a strange chore. He woke up every morning, having dreamed a day of training in a foreign seaside town.   He felt the burn of a bike ride in his calves instead of the ache of long practice in his thighs. His daily protein shake paled in comparison to the breakfast in his dreams. Green salad decorated cherry tomatoes cut into flowers, boiled eggs and soft fluffy rice next to miso heavy with root vegetables. Viktor never hungered  _ just _ for the food in his dream that violated his meal plan. He hungered the for the care that went into making the food that he couldn’t muster to put into his own meals.  He wanted the taste of love to last into the morning. He wished that the love he felt lasted longer than a few seconds in the morning. He worked hard not to question it—why he had such lucid dreams, why they stamped themselves so indelibly into his consciousness-- because he relished even the momentary taste of a brighter life.

  There was less reason to question it when he lay in a hotel in Taipei , dreaming of the same competition in another country. Another country where he didn’t compete, instead watching the man of his dreams skate instead. Where he kissed on the ice instead of sliding across it.   Viktor watched as every night he worked and polished a man he already thought was perfect. His heart sang as he watched choreography tell the story of the impact he had on Yuuri. He was thousands of miles away from Barcelona when he dreamed of a ring slipping onto his fingers. Yakov never noticed the sour tilt to Viktor’s mouth when he saw gold instead of silver on a ribbon heavy on his heart.

His dreams had lasted a year.  It had felt like a lifetime.

A lifetime stolen from him when he woke up on the couch without the lingering taste of Yuuri,  or the flutter in his chest. He woke up with nothing. The dreams ended when Yuuri made him promise to skate on the ice with him. It felt like the end of a cruel arc, an abrupt end to his favorite story. He didn’t even get a nonsensical jumble of dreams. He woke up without any images in his head, a missing piece between night and morning. He couldn’t even remember the splitting headache that had arrived the first night without the dreams.

 

He felt just as empty during the night as the day. Sleep seemed pointless.

 

So he went to the rink, the after-hours building code pulled up on his phone, where he stored it in case his memory failed him. The season was starting up again, and no one would question him. They would praise his work ethic without realizing that this was the only thing he knew to do. He’d push to the next competition—he was placed to compete in Spain, although there was a GPF qualifier only a short flight away in Sochi. He paid no attention to who he’d be skating with or where-- only what he would skate and how he would impress the world.

 

It was dark inside the rink, and Viktor didn’t stop to  turn on any lights. He sat down to pull on his skates, before the soft scraping of blades against  the ice pushed past the ringing of his ears. Someone was on the ice already… in the dark.

 

“Hello?” he called out.  Whoever was skating stopped, and the ringing turned to buzzing. He tied the last lace, before stomping over to the wall and pressing  two light switches on.

 

The ice was empty.

 

Viktor sighed, rubbing his eyes before stepping onto the ice. He slid to the center of the ice, where the center of the lights was concentrated. With the outside lights turned off, it felt like a spotlight. A show for no one.

Viktor close his eyes, raising his arms to the sky, trying to pour himself into the longing he had choreographed into this year’s skate.

He had thought of doing Stammi Vicino, but he stopped himself.  It would be meaningless in the real world. There was no one to stay close to him-- it was all immaterial. It hurt too much to think about as it was.

 

Luckily, he had no shortage of inspiration for longing.

He opened his eyes, swinging his arms down and outward, before he froze. The previously blank, smooth ice was full of color.

 

“Yuuri?” He breathed.  He didn’t think it was possible to hallucinate due to over-sleep, but  somehow, he was. The man of his dreams was on the ice, in front of him. His team jersey blurred blue and black before Viktor blinked away the tears that filled his eyes.

It wasn’t the Yuuri that his last dream left him. He was shyer, standing three feet away, his cheeks flushed pink. His Yuuri melted into him, never outside of an arm's length. 

 

“Viktor.”  Yuuri said his name like it was a prayer. Like he had in his dreams. “I’m really glad you’re back in my dreams.” His hands twisted nervously in his  jersey pockets.

 

Viktor’s lips parted, his wet eyes widening. Dreams?

 

“I’m not.” Viktor felt a pang of regret of his words when he saw the panic flash across Yuuri’s eyes.

 

“I mean. I’m not asleep.”  Viktor bit the inside of his cheek to make sure. Pinching himself was uncouth and stereotypical.

“I…don’t think I am either?” Yuuri’s mouth twisted with uncertainty. “I mean… I never went to Yubileiny in my dreams.  I was never alone either… I had you...”

 

“What dreams?”  Viktor slid forward, closing the distance between them. His heart was pounding in his chest.

His Yuuri would have closed the distance first.

His eyes dropped to the ice. Viktor drunk in the sight of his dark lashes, the way his cheeks  burned pink. He was okay with this type of lucid dream. It was new, but it was Yuuri.

 

“I…. I’ve had this long dream… about you coming to Japan to coach me.” Yuuri flushed darker, and Viktor wanted to interject ‘we fell in love’

“Which is crazy, you know? You’re my idol, but no one dreams for a year about dumb stuff like that. I mean,  I finally qualify for the GPF and get placed in Russia, and you get sent to the other side of the world.”

 

“Detroit?” Viktor breathed. When he had received the placements, he had started at the final placement.

His dreams never matched up with his real-life competitions. It always has felt brutally real, but it always mismatched. Until now.

“Yeah, it’s silly, isn’t it? I finally get to compete with you, and we get sent to each other’s  countries.” Yuuri laughed humorlessly. “Not that I could face the real you, anyway.”

“Why not?” Viktor bristled. Then he realized, his shoulders softening. No one knew.

No one used to know.

“I had the same dream. I woke up in Hasetsu. I love you.”

Technically ‘loved’. Loving someone.. The love they had shared did not feel this awkward

But right now, it felt like love.

Viktor pushed forward, reaching for Yuuri’s hand.  He had to meet him where he was. That’s what worked on the first dream Yuuri.  He would do the same for hallucination Yuuri.

He reached out for purchase, but grasped at nothing. Where he should have felt the soft warm give of flesh, there was just the chill of air.

His heart dropped to his stomach.

Of course this wasn’t real.

It was another strange dream. In what kind of world did a ghost act surprised at the revelation that he was immaterial?  Was this some remnant of an old movie he had watched and forgotten about?

Yuuri’s eyes widened. Viktor drew his hand back, pressing it to his chest as tears overflowed and cascaded down his cheeks.

Yuuri reached out, his cold-reddened fingers pressing against  the skin just above an to the right of Viktor’s heart.

Viktor felt an icy cold  wash over him, every nerve in his body singing.

Yuuri’s fingertips disappeared into him. Viktor shivered, and he immediately drew back, showering apologies as he put more distance between them.

If he was asleep, Viktor would have woken up. It was like he had fallen in a dream—he would have jerked awake from the sensation. But he was already awake, even if his brain was somewhere else.

“Yuuri?” Viktor tasted salt water and metal at the back of his throat.

“I’m sorry—“ Yuuri stuttered.

 

“For what?”

“I thought it was a dream.” Viktor had seen Yuuri cry in his dreams before, but it didn’t make this time any easier. “But it’s not.”

“I don’t mind that,” Viktor said without thinking.

“I wanted to meet you before I died,” Yuuri said softly, his arms wrapping around himself.

“You’re dead?”

“I think. It’s what makes…sense.”

“None of this makes sense.”   Viktor Nikiforov, a world-class athlete with a perfect bill of health—whose closest venture to drugs was a glass of wine at dinner or a strong cup of coffee—did not hallucinate.   It was one thing to have an entire dream world just left of center of reality… it was another to share it with another person.

Perhaps he was in heaven. Or he was in hell. Perhaps he had been struck by a car on his way to the rink sometimes last year, and this hyper-realistic rendezvous was his test to see whether he would advance to the next step of purgatory.

God worked in mysterious ways.

“You’re right.” Yuuri smiled his precious smile. “It’s not like this year was any different… I don’t know why the dreams were so real.  I mean, this could be the rink in Sochi.” His soft brown eyes move around the cyrillic posters and advertisements plastered against the rink walls.

“It’s not. You’re more than 2000 kilometers from Sochi. This is St. Petersburg. My home rink.”

“Oh.”

“Why Sochi?”

“…I think… That’s where I was going. Or maybe it was where I went?” Yuuri’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Well, you’re here now.” Viktor bit out, holding  out his hand. “Why don’t we skate together?”

Whatever this was… whatever was happening at that moment… Viktor decided to treasure it.

He may have lost his dream world in Hasetsu,  but he had a Yuuri before him. One who had experienced the same strangely beautiful dreams.. Even after a year, Viktor was still not sure  how long it would last. When the dreams would fade, and he would go back to exhaustion-fueled dreamless sleep.

He always tried to treasure what he had.

“But I can’t touch you.” Yuuri reached out for Viktor, but he hesitated a few inches from touching his palm.

“I can touch you.” Viktor clasped his hand around Yuuri’s.  It felt less like flesh more like cupping pressure of wind against a hand dipped out of a speeding car’s window. The earlier taste of saltwater and returned, but he swallowed it back.

Yuuri was smiling.

Viktor pulled and swung Yuuri in an arc in front of him, an experiment. Four blades carving the ice echoed through the empty rink, but the ice below them was only marred by one set of tracks.

Their pair skate had never translated to real life. Viktor had taken the movements to practice, but had refused Yakov’s requests to incorporate it into a competitive skate.   He knew that he had never lifted someone off the ice. The hours of practice, the bruised hips and sore thighs had only happened in his dreams. 

He knew he was awake. The taste in his mouth was too strong, and the air too cold. It was too real for a dream, and yet Yuuri read every moment and movement as if he was in Viktor’s own head.

(Viktor still wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t)

He desperately wanted to feel the imprint of Yuuri’s hands against his side as he lifted him into the air...  the same feeling he had woken up with so many nights ago. 

But this wasn’t a dream, and this wasn’t that Yuuri.

Instead he guided Yuuri around the rink.  Yuuri read him easily- sliding into a triple toe loop half a second behind Viktor’s.  They did the step sequence Viktor had woven into the FS that never happened. Feeling brave, Viktor leapt into a quad salchow. Something felt wrong-- out of place.

Viktor braced himself for a fall before he noticed he had landed it perfectly. He was fine, but he had still heard the scrape of  blades and the impact of body against ice. Yuuri had fallen. He sat on the ice, momentarily in shock, before he broke into laughter.

“Yuuri—are you okay?” Viktor drifted forward on the ice the same time that the rink’s lobby lights buzzed on.

Viktor’s eyes snapped to the lobby—the morning crew was here, set to clean and prep for the hockey team that practiced every morning at 5 am. Of course.

Viktor looked back to the spot where Yuuri fell… only to find no one there at all.


	2. All alone in a daydream

Viktor returned  to the rink at the same time the next few days, to no avail. He remained alone and listless, and by the time his rest day came he had lost the motivation to check again.

Sleep was dreamless and hardly restful. He managed to drag himself out of his bed, if only to complete the errands that piled up during the workweek.  The sleep aid pills found their way into his basket again. It didn’t hurt to try, did it?

Viktor was still trying to push away the heavy-hearted guilt when he arrived back on his doorstep. He would give Makka the longest walk she’d have all week, then a dish of warm chicken. He’d make it up to her.

When he pushed open the door, she wasn’t there. She wasn’t at her usual spot, note pressed to the threshold, waiting obediently for her master.

Panic coursed through his veins and his heart dropped to his feet, before the soft  _ borf _ of her bark came from the living room.  There she sat, gazing lovingly at Yuuri, his hand resting lightly on her curly back.

“I think I’m haunting you.” Yuuri smiled shyly. Viktor dropped his shopping bags onto the kitchen table before rushing the living room. Makkachin’s tail wagged harder, beating a steady rhythm on the couch cushion.

“I don’t mind.” Viktor resisted the temptation to reach out. He settled on the other half of the couch, where Makka resettled herself onto his lap with a wet kiss.

“You see him too, don’t you?” Viktor whispered  into the fur between his poodle’s ears. She opened her mouth into a happy pant.

Yuuri was still in his team Japan gear, but his feet were bare. He sat curled up against himself. He was achingly familiar.

Viktor stood up, his energy sparked by an old memory of a dream. He nearly ran to the kitchen. He searched in his cabinet for the tea he bought months ago, when the dream was fresh in his mind. Viktor set a kettle on the stove before pulling out the chicken he had dragged himself out of the apartment for.

Yuuri didn’t question it, instead murmuring softly to Makkachin. Viktor knew it was Japanese, and in his dreams he had learned it—but that always disappeared as soon as he woke up. He knew the tea he had bought so long ago wasn’t perfect, but the images he saw in his brain blurred when he tried to recall writing or tried to find the real-word equivalent.  He ended up going across town to find a specialty tea shop, spending an hour and a half opening glass jars until he found the right one. The shop owner told him the name— _ genmaicha  _ – and waxed poetic about the green tea leaves and roasted brown rice. Viktor had tuned it out, instead focusing on the smell, and remembering the warmth  and weight of a cup in his hands. He focused on the bitter last sip, where the ground  _ matcha  _ collected. He had found a little bit of home…  and of Yuuri.

He had used about half of the canister in the week after the dream. He had left the shop with a lonely strainer designed to sit on the lip of a mug. It  suddenly felt insufficient--- If Yuuri truly lived here, there would be a mess of them in the silverware drawer.

Viktor paused, the kettle whistling. What was he thinking? As if Yuuri could drink a cup of tea, when he didn’t even leave a mark on the ice. Anything Viktor had tried had phased through him as if there was nothing there at all. He stared down at the mugs he set on the counter, two tea bags stuffed in one, the strainer balanced on the other.

But it was too late.

“It smells good.” His voice was closer, and Viktor turned to find Yuuri behind him, his arms folded under each other.

“You… can smell it?” Viktor stammered, lost for words. The dreams had stopped before Viktor could see Yuuri in his own apartment.

The shy smile on Yuuri’s face faded a bit, and his head cocked to the side. “I remember it?” He stepped closer to the kitchen counter. “It’s genmaicha, which my mom would make. Yagi-san would always bring it when she came to the onsen. I grew up drinking it.”

“I bought it… after a dream.” Viktor said shyly.

Yuuri laughed, and the sound warmed him more than any hot drink would.

“I remember. I was surprised you like the tea so much. Then you paid to have a box of Russian tea overnighted.  I think my mom nearly fainted when you put a big spoonful of jam in her cup.”

Yuuri bit his lip, as he remembered that it hadn’t quite happened like that.

“I…. I think I bought some of your tea, too.” Yuuri added quietly.

“Did you like it?” Viktor perked up. Makkachin pressed a wet nose to his elbow, letting her presence and hunger be known.

Yuuri flushed. “It was too sweet. I don’t think I made it right. It was definitely not on my diet plan, so I felt bad. I just… liked the idea of it.”

Viktor paused. The jar of black currant jam was on his counter, as always. It was a Russian staple—to the point that he didn’t ever think Yakov forbade him from the national tradition.

He could feel Yuuri watching him as he scooped in a spoonful of the jam into his mug, and felt judgement seep into the gaze when he went for the honey jar.

“Yes?” Viktor paused, turning to look at the ghost in his kitchen.

“I…was hoping that part was a nightmare.” Yuuri managed, before a snicker leaked from his mouth, and they both broke into laughter. Viktor clutched his chest, falling to the floor dramatically.

“After I did all this for you, Yuuri!” he sang, recalling the acting course he had taken in college and forcing tears into his eyes.

Yuuri scrambled to the floor. “Don’t cry. I just don’t want you to die from diabetes.” He leaned forward, wiping Viktor’s tears from his cheeks. The metallic taste returned to the back of his throat, but Viktor tried to focus on the pressure he felt against his skin. He drowned the taste with tea, gulping down half of the mug when they finally stood up. Yuuri leaned over his own cup, drinking in the steam instead.

“Why don’t you try it?” Viktor said over the lip of his cup. Yuuri paused, before he waved his hand through the mug. The steam shifted, but nothing else happened.

Viktor’s tea didn’t taste so sweet anymore. Yuuri shrugged. “I think I only can interact with other living things… souls?” He didn’t sound so sure, but he hadn’t had the time to put too much thought into it.

Makkachin barked impatiently, pawing at the back of Viktor’s knee.

“Okay, okay Makka. I’m sorry for not including you.” Viktor sang, spreading out Makka’s chicken onto a plate and setting it onto the floor. When he stood back up, he closed his eyes, and he could almost feel Yuuri leaning into him.

<img src=”https://i.imgur.com/RHxIShTl.gif”>

That night, Viktor took three sleeping aid pills at eight o clock.  They had gone out for a walk with Makkachin, and when they turned a corner, Viktor was alone again. Makkachin didn’t notice Yuuri’s absence for another block, when she stared up at Viktor and left out a soft, longing whine.  The rest of the day seemed pointless, so he waited until Makkachin was taken care of before downing the pills with a large glass of water.

When his brain switched on, he found himself in the kitchen again. He prepared himself for a nightmare of sorts, leaning on the counter with both hands, when he saw something move in the corner of his eye.

It was a large pile of blankets—or rather, Yuuri wrapped in the comforter pulled off of the bed. His hair stuck up in all directions and his eyes were barely open behind his glasses.

Viktor’s heart hammered a stattaco inside his chest. Yuuri crossed the living room, before sleepily leaning into Viktor’s side, pressing his cheek between his shoulder blades. He muttered something about the cold in his native language. But this was a dream, and this Viktor understood.

“Ohayou,” Yuuri said dreamily as Viktor turned. Yuuri tilted his head up and closed his eyes as if patiently waiting for a kiss. Viktor indulged him, earning a smile from the blanket burrito.

Maybe it wasn’t a nightmare after all.

Yuuri settled between  Viktor’s arms as he realized what he had been doing in the kitchen. He had brewed coffee, in mugs he didn’t recall owning. His French press sat empty next to a plate of cinnamon  _ blini _ .  Viktor leaned  to kiss the crown of Yuuri’s head. He smelled like Viktor’s shampoo—clean mint— and the idea of Yuuri sharing his shower washed away the sadness of the evening. Yuuri wrapped his fingers around one of the mugs.

“Are you sure I can have this, coach?” His tone held a lilt of sarcasm, but his expression was soft with happiness. His chest was bare underneath the blankets, but for the gold medal resting over his heart. “After all the katsudon…”

“You deserve it.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re fattening me up so you can get your world record back.”

Yuuri wrinkled his nose, and Viktor did not resist the urge to kiss it.

“I don’t need a world record when I’m on the podium with you.”

“I wish you’d wear your medal too.” Yuuri’s voice dropped, and not just because he was sipping at his coffee.

“I don’t need to wear it to feel like a winner.” Viktor waved the subject away, reaching out to stab a  _ blini _ pancake with a fork.

“Then why do you make me wear it?” Yuuri sounded embarrassed, but he didn’t resist when Viktor held the fork to his lips.

“Because I love how it looks on you.” It was an easy question to answer.

“Oh.” Yuuri sound disappointed. He didn’t take another bite of breakfast.

“What did you think?” Viktor set the fork down. Yuuri pulled the comforter higher _ ,  _  hiding in it. “Yuuri?”

Yuuri flushed, the comforter pulled up to his nose.

“Moya zolotse, please.” He pleaded.

“You… said we’d get married when I won gold.” Yuuri said quickly, before he turned away and gulped down half his mug of coffee.

“Yuuri!” Viktor sang, diving forward to pull Yuuri into a tight hug. “We have to work hard to plan a spring wedding! I want to do it under the cherry blossoms!”

<img src=”https://i.imgur.com/RHxIShTl.gif”>

“Your fridge is depressingly empty.” Yuuri's voice met Viktor in the morning. Viktor blinked, lighting up instead of jumping out of his skin. 

“Are you hungry?” He didn’t realize how stupid it sounded until the words were out of his mouth and hanging between them. 

 

Yuuri didn’t notice. “No, just bored. Do you live on tea and coffee ?”

 

Viktor smiled. “... no, I don’t. I’ve just been … busy.”

“Sad?”

Yuuri said it easily. Without weight or expectation. 

 

That’s right. Yuuri had  been there in his dreams. On his terrible days. 

“Maybe.” Viktor was still uncomfortable about addressing the dream world , even with the ease that Yuuri had with bringing it up. 

 

“I’ll go shopping later.” Viktor went to make a cup of coffee, pulling down another two mugs. 

“You don’t have to put it off because of me. “ Yuuri's voice was small. Viktor stopped, mid reach. 

 

“I’m not. I’d rather spend time with you.”

 

“Oh. Yeah…” Yuuri's gaze dropped to the floor, his immaterial fingertips brushing the counter top. “If no one else sees me,  you’d look crazy.” He bit his lip anxiously, marring his expression. Viktor wanted to smooth it off his face. 

 

“Come with me. I have a few tricks up my sleeves.” Viktor offered a suave smile.

 

“Okay.” Yuuri looked doubtful but followed Viktor, watching him pull on a coat and wind a scarf around his neck.

 

They walked to the nearest grocer together, hand in hand… or as much as they could. He would press his palm against the pressure he could feel. The coffee taste washed out of his mouth, replaced by salt water.. but Viktor didn’t mind.  It felt terribly domestic to go shopping together. It wasn’t something the dream world had touched yet. They had only just moved in together in St. Petersburg, and then Yuuri had appeared in the waking world.

 

Yuuri scurried through the doorway, squeezing past Viktor’s arm. The small movements-- the clinging to the material world-- made it feel more real. If it wasn’t for the grannies charging down the aisle--and through Yuuri-- the illusion would have held, and Viktor would stay floating in his cloud of happiness. Viktor pretended it hadn’t happened, pulling out his phone and pressing it to his ear without unlocking the screen. If anyone looked on, he’d be holding a phone conversation-- not a conversation with a ghost.

“What do you want for dinner?” He could lock eyes with Yuuri, because no other eyes could. He sputtered, his cheeks flushing as he gestured to himself. Viktor hummed, nodding his head.

 

“But… I can’t eat.” Yuuri kept his voice low, even though fellow shoppers paid them no mind.

 

“If you could, what would you want to eat? Together?” Viktor wandered over to the cooler that held all the frozen  _ pelmeni _ dumplings.

 

“At home...katsudon.” Yuuri mumbled. “In Detroit...waffles with Phichit.”

 

“With me?” Viktor turned, looking hopeful. Yuuri flushed to the tips of his ears.

 

“Wine….”

 

“That’s not a meal.” Viktor laughed. “I’ll pick up a Red, though.”

 

Yuuri’s mouth set in a pout but he didn’t say anything, staying deep in thought. What went with wine? The only wine he’d ever had was champagne, and that had been at his first national competition after turning twenty. The jungle juice at college parties probably had wine, but it depended on the party.  He had ordered a glass of wine at Olive Garden with Phichit, but Yuuri only remembered the breadsticks and guilt. Not the wine.

 

“I’ll get some lamb and vegetables.” Viktor said it so easily, Yuuri felt a spike of panic-- did he  say something out loud?

 

“I have to stick to my diet plan, after all. I’m training with Yakov tomorrow.” Viktor slipped a package of treats for Makkachin into his basket, along with a few ingredients for breakfast. His kitchen was bare because he wasn’t much of a cook. After college, and moving into a place of his own, it had started to feel like more effort than it was worth. But now he had Yuuri-- and even if he couldn’t eat, he could smell it, and they could both pretend it was real.

“Ah, Yuuri, these were my favorite when I was a child!” Viktor stopped short in the candy aisle, pulling out a truffle-like wrapped candy from a basket. Yuuri leaned in close, peering at it. There was the picture of some sort of berry, but without any experience with reading Russian, the exact fruit was lost on Yuuri. The wrapper was gold and red, and didn’t look childish at all.

“Is it… liquor?”

“Yuuri…” Victor sounded disappointing, and vaguely offended, but still sung his name. “What kind of parents would give a child liquor?”

 

“Bad ones. It… just doesn’t look like its meant for kids.”

 

“...well, it’s not. But it’s nostalgic.”

 

“My favorite candy were  _ konpeito.”  _  Viktor blinked blankly.  “Little…” Yuuri held up his thumb and index finger to demonstrate. “Sugar stars. In pink and white and green.  My mom would buy them, and I would get a whole bag to myself. Mari always got chocolate, so she never tried to eat mine. Sometimes they would come with picture candy.”

Viktor softened at the peek into Yuuri’s life, so easily shared between them.

“I’d like to try it, someday.”

 

“It’s not that great. Kids will eat anything.” Yuuri was still flustered, avoiding looking at Viktor. 

 

“Still.” Viktor’s neck was starting to cramp and his hand ache from holding the phone to his ear.

 

They left with two truffles, a leg of lamb, a few carrots, and an onion.  Viktor played music while he cooked-- as he often did to fill the silence.

 

“You skated to this in your second juniors season.” Yuuri started at the beginning of another classical song.

“Years ago,” Viktor mused, going back to peeling and chopping vegetables.

“It was the year you went for a triple salchow instead of the double. Yuuko was so scared that your coach was going to strangle you in the kiss and cry.”

Laughter bubbled up from Viktor’s chest. “Really? By then, I knew better. I only ended up having to scrub the locker room floor when we got home. Yakov would target a skater’s pride rather than push them to work hard. He preferred the sting of the soul over an aching body as punishment.” Viktor laughed again at the thought.

“You’re lucky you didn’t get hurt in Juniors.”

“Oh? Why? I hear Team Japan had an ace in their pocket.” Viktor teased.

“You would have never been my idol, or rival.” Viktor looked up to see fire and mischief in Yuuri’s eyes. Something he had seen during Eros-- but only after Yuuri had mastered his own version of it.

It was so unbelievably  _ sexy _ and  _ Yuuri _ that it ached.

 

Viktor didn’t know when the knife dropped from his hands to the cutting board--only the taste of salt water and the splitting headache that bloomed in his head as he kissed Yuuri. And the pain of his absence when Viktor opened his eyes, and Yuuri wasn’t there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments so far! See you monday!


	3. it's a bitter world and I'd rather dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting! I've been subbing at work and it slipped my mind.
> 
> it's a bitter world and I'd rather dream- Lonely Lullabye, Owl City

The next day an early snow fell over St. Petersburg. It wasn’t rare-- just early, and it cast an extra gloom across another day waking up without Yuuri. 

Makkachin pawed at his leg incessantly, begging to get out despite the cold. Viktor decided--without thinking too much-- that he would bring her to the beach. The walls were pressing in on him, and his sweet poodle too, if her behavior was any indication. It was covered with several centimeters of snow, but Makka was a good, Russian dog…. And he loved her. He left the house with a jacket and one of the scarves that  he never quite managed to put away. His snow boots remained securely in his closet, his feet covered by the loafers he wore between home and the rink. Which-- he realized-- were the only places he traveled to anymore.

The layer of snow had laid a quiet blanket over the city, muffling any sounds that would usually echo from it. It made the beach- and the churning clouds beyond it-- feel even more desolate. Makka forged happily ahead, dancing and leaving loops of paw prints in the snow.

 

“You look lonely,” His voice was more warming than the sweetest cup of tea on the coldest day. Viktor could say he hated how Yuuri appeared  out of the blue-- but he would be lying. Yuuri could appear through blood sacrifice and Viktor would willingly spill it just for another chance to see him.

 

“I am. I was.”  Viktor drunk in the sight of him. He looked the same as he always did. The few snowflakes that still fell from the sky didn’t stick to his dark lashes or melt in his hair. But he looked as peaceful and open as the land around him, shrouded in white and expanding in all directions.

 

“Are you cold?” Viktor added, wanting to fill the silence between them. His voice would carry, but no one would be awake enough this early to listen.

 

“Maybe.” Yuuri smiled shyly, his eyes on the horizon. “Are you?”

 

“No.” Viktor said, a little too quickly.

 

“I’m not going to tell you to go home. But… you should be careful.”

 

“Why?”

 

Yuuri looked embarrassed.  This Yuuri seemed a lot more free with his words than the one of his dreams… But they lacked the language of touch between them, and the words that spilled easily from Yuuri filled the gap.

 

“It doesn’t really snow in Hasetsu. After I moved to Detroit, I got caught in a blizzard. I knew it was going to snow, but it seemed really peaceful… and I needed to clear my mind. I love Phichit, but being in the same room… in any room… sometimes I just need to get out. “ Yuuri shuffled his feet. “I got out… really far out. I got lost at the edge of campus. None of the buses were running during break. Phichit freaked out when I didn’t come back after two hours, and he called Coach Celestino....”

 

Viktor couldn’t take his eyes off Yuuri as he opened up to him on the icy shore. They found the same solace in the open air… and Yuuri, his beautiful ephemeral, not-of-this-world Yuuri, knew and loved him enough to open enough about his past. His embarrassing, storied past.

 

“I’m glad you had people who loved you in Detroit.” Viktor mused. Yuuri’s gaze looked far-away, as if he could see Phichit pressed up against Celestino’s SUV window, eyes filling with tears.

 

Viktor tried to remember the last time  he had felt lost-- disoriented in an endless  field of white. No memories came to the surface-- only a long line of the ice being home.

 

Viktor fell for a fourth time, and it wasn’t even lunch yet. When Yakov pulled him off the ice to yell at him, he didn’t even hear his words.

All he could think about Yuuri. Yuuri’s words—how he sounded, how he smelled. How soft he was in off-season, and how warm Viktor felt when they held each other.

How he had appeared beside him without warning, brightening his day.

And had taken all the light when he had left without notice.

Skating had lost its meaning long ago, and Viktor was struggling to keep his grip on the little motivation he had left. He didn’t have Yuuri to compete against. He hadn’t fought for gold in years…what was the point?

Yakov stopped short in the middle of his rant. He was nearly red in the face.

“Go home.”

Viktor’s head snapped up, his eyes meeting his coach’s. “What?”

“Go home. You’re no use here until you get your head screwed back on.”

He left—it would be more work to ignore Yakov, and there would be no fun in teasing him.

Viktor just wanted to go back to sleep, where he knew Yuuri would be.

Eventually, Yakov stopped yelling. He stopped shaking his head when Viktor arrived late instead of an hour earlier than the other skaters. He turned his attention to Yuri, who would debut in Seniors that season.

Viktor would have stopped coming altogether, if it weren’t for the pattern.

The more time he spent at the rink, the more often Yuuri would appear before Viktor’s head hit the pillow. The more exhausted from practice Viktor was, the longer he had to fight to stay awake with this new Yuuri. 

The more time they spent together, the more the Dream Yuuri and Ghost Yuuri blurred together.

Yuuri would lean close, and press a kiss to Viktor’s cheek. He longed for the taste coating the back of his throat, the salt and metal that meant Yuuri was touching him.

Viktor took silver the same day he decided what he would do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments so far! I treasure each one <3


	4. Held down like an angel with no wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Held down like an angel with no wings- from Up Al Night, by Owl City

“Vitya, I don’t  _ know _ .” Yuuri’s hands crumbled into frustrated fists. “I told you. I don’t remember. It just… happened. One day I’m at home, the next, I was at the rink… but the wrong rink. If I’m dead, it happened in my sleep.”

Viktor leaned back, frowning,

“Why do you want to know?” Yuuri broke the silence that had fallen over them.

“I was thinking… it would be romantic… if it was the same way.”

“What?”

Yuuri crawled onto Viktor’s lap. He ached with the emptiness, the pressure but complete lack of weight on him.  He felt more like he was holding the same ends of magnets together, when he wanted to be attracted with a force stronger than anything on earth.

“Viktor. Tell me what you think is romantic.”

“It’s like Romeo and Juliet.” Viktor laughed nervously. He hadn’t expected to see Yuuri like this. He didn’t  _ want _ to see Yuuri angry.

“Romeo and Juliet is a tragedy.” Yuuri’s anger stung.

But his reaction was worse. The anger folded into a sob, and tears spilled over his cheeks.

“I want to be with you.” Viktor offered. He tried to wipe the tears streaming down Yuuri’s cheeks, but it was no use. He couldn’t touch him, and they flowed so fast they dropped off his jaw into nothing.

“I don’t want you to die because of me.” Yuuri sobbed, his words shaking. “You’re my idol. You’re the reason I’m… I was…alive…?”

Viktor couldn’t continue on. He couldn’t explain that he wasn’t dying because of Yuuri. It wasn’t even for Yuuri. It was for himself.

Makkachin was getting old.

Skating was meaningless.

Viktor had decided, and he felt free. The universe had sent Yuuri as message. It was time to go.

It was the most exhilaration Viktor had felt in  _ years.  _  He was convinced this was a test, and he would pass it.

He gave himself a week, just long enough for the packages to arrive from the various mail-order pharmacies to arrive. Time enough for letters to be written, for a will to be written to assure Makkachin a home until she joined him.

On day 6, he arrived at the rink early. He helped Mila warm up. He hugged Yuri, despite his protests. He landed every jump, and saw a smile on Yakov for the first time in weeks.

He bought everyone lunch—ordering from a local restaurant that boasted local comfort food.

No one questioned it, sitting together in the rink’s cafeteria.  No one refused the Styrofoam containers of borscht, and there was a light buzz of conversation that warmed Viktor more than the soup.

He would miss this.

But the fact that Yuuri would never have this hurt more.

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” Mila voiced Viktor’s internal thoughts, waving her plastic spoon at the screen mounted on the cafeteria wall. It was tuned to the local news, instead of the usual soap opera that played when a competition wasn’t on.

Viktor looked up to see the smoking wreck of what had once been a plane. Parts of the film were blurred, hiding something gruesome, before switching to a wide shot of an unfamiliar hospital.

“Where was this?” Viktor said through his spoon.

“They put him in Sochi. I think the other survivor died last week.”

“Last week?” Was this old news? Viktor knew he was forgetful, but he didn’t think he was naïve enough to miss a national tragedy.

“I didn’t know you were slipping that much, Viktor.” Yuri scoffed. “There was a whole speech at Rostelecom too.”

“Rostelecom?” Viktor froze, his gaze snapping back to the screen just as the headshot appeared on the screen.

Yuuri.

Yuuri, Yuuri Yuuri.

Yuuri Katsuki, aged 23, top skater in Japan,  now sole survivor of flight 783.

_ Yuuri. _

It  was him. Oh god, it was him. That shy expression, the soft hair, those huge blue-rimmed glasses.

Viktor pinched himself. He bit his tongue, then the side of his cheek until he drew blood.

He was awake.

“Yuuri Katsuki?” Viktor echoed, hoping someone else would know the name he knew intimately.

“It was the first time he qualified for the Grand Prix.” Georgi sighed. “How tragic.”

“He’s not dead?” Viktor stood up to turn the volume up. The channel was already playing commercials.

Viktor felt like setting the laundry detergent in the ad on fire.

“That’s a big rock you live under.” Yuri set down his own cutlery. “He’s been in a coma for three weeks, Viktor. Only half dead.”

“Be nice, Yura.” Mila frowned. “You know how its been. With everyone.”

“Why is he in the news?” Viktor’s heart was beating fast. When would he wake up from this?

“Google exists,” Yuri managed before bracing for a smack from Mila.

“It’s a big scandal.  His medical insurance ran out. Japan wants him back in the country, but his family can’t afford it.  People think Russia should pay for it, but because the plane crashed in the Black Sea…”

“Where is he?” Viktor stood up, the rest of his meal forgotten.

“City Hospital 8, maybe? I could be wrong.” Mila answered.  She had been following the event on twitter for the past few weeks, after being assigned to the Rostelecom Cup for one of her finals. Viktor had been assigned to Skate America, and that was enough for the international debate to escape him.

“I… I have to find something.” Viktor rushed out of the rink, pulling out the laces from his skates and stepping into his street shoes without tying them properly.

Makkachin danced around him, excited when he arrived home hours earlier than expected. He went right to his laptop, his hands shaking as he typed in Yuuri’s name.

Within an hour, he booked a redeye flight to Sochi, found directions to the hospital printed out and folded them around his Russian Skating Federation credentials and a bag filled with two outfits and a novel to keep him entertained. He knew he wouldn’t sleep that night.

Makkachin’s usual sitter was available, and he wired enough money to satisfy the sitter’s objections to Viktor’s request for Makkachin to be taken care of indefinitely until Viktor contacted them again.

He left Makka with a long kiss and hug before he left to catch the next train to the airport. He didn’t feel hungry while he paced in front of the gate. He couldn’t bear to crack open the hardcover novel sitting in his bag. Instead he scrolled through the endless articles about flight  783. When he ran out of Russian articles, he searched in English. He read every British and American newspaper that published online. He read twenty articles that said the same thing, but still scoured it for details. He tapped his foot restlessly for the entire three hour flight. He barely had the presence of mind to stop and buy a ridiculously overpriced sandwich at an airport kiosk. He knew most stores would be closed, and his only experience with hospital cafeterias had been years ago, when his mother passed while he was still in primary school.

He was buzzing with adrenaline when the taxi dropped him off in front of the hospital. Viktor paused only to smooth out the wrinkles on his suit and clip on his Russian Skating Federation badge. He hoped that whoever was in his hospital knew him well enough to believe his story, but not enough to know that the badge was for last year’s conference. Or the fact that the membership in the RSF didn’t give you any power—if anything, it took it away.

“Good evening.” Viktor pasted on a harried and polite smile, although he really felt torn between grinning and crying. But the receptionist didn’t need to know that. “I am sorry for the late hour, but I had a delay in my travels. I’m here to visit---“

“Visiting hours are over.” The receptionist barely looked up at him while she worked at filing paperwork.

“I’m here as an ambassador to visit Yuuri Katsuki.” Viktor’s smile twitched with irritation. The receptionist didn’t look up as she moved to another file cabinet.

Viktor waited another thirty seconds before going to plan B.

“I apologize, here is my paperwork.” The woman finally looked up as Viktor pulled a 10,000 ruble note out of his  coat and slid it across the counter. He made sure to look at her directly in the eyes, even as his hands shook behind the formica desk.

“He’s on floor 6, room 629.” The receptionist tucked the bill into her pocket before continuing her paperwork.

Viktor smiled his press-smile, expressing his thanks before speed-walking to the elevator. His heart rose into his throat as the elevator climbed.

Viktor had booked the trip with no plan in mind, but the world was working in his favor. The floor was nearly empty, as the day shift changed over to the night nurses. No one looked up as he backtracked, searching for the right number. 618, 620…629.

He made it to the doorway before he broke down.

The last time Viktor remembered crying was at his mother’s funeral. But this, this was the opposite of a funeral. This was the realization of life!

If it was that.

He knew it was his Yuuri in every cell of his body. But this Yuuri was sleeping, tied down with tubes.  A machine pushed air into his lungs with a mechanical whoosh. Multiple bags fed into a disturbingly large contraption taped to his arm.

Viktor dropped to his knees, taking Yuuri’s hand that wasn’t tangled up with tubes and monitors. He pressed his lips to the warm skin, relishing in the soft weight. The metal-and-salt taste did not spring from his throat—instead he felt another sob rise up from his chest.

Yuuri.  _ Yuuri _ . Yuuri was here, alive and real.

Viktor had hoped Yuuri would spring awake, the miracle of their meeting bringing him back to Earth.

But he slept, his chest rising and falling in time with the machine.

Did Yuuri even know?

He needed to know. He needed to come back, he needed to wake up. The universe had led him here, and this was what he needed to do.

The only question was….what did he do next?

 

The nurses paid Viktor no mind when they came in to check on Yuuri. He retreated to a bench in corner of the room, trying to be unobtrusive as possible. They checked vitals, changed bandages and went on with work without a word. Yuuri moved like a rag doll as they shifted his position and moved pillows  underneath him.

Viktor waited.

He already felt exhausted, and the crying had left him feeling hollow and raw. He waited for Yuuri to haunt him again.

Instead, he just slept, any pretense of peacefulness ruined by the push of the ventilator and the even mechanical beeping of the monitors.

When Viktor fell asleep propped up against the wall, he found himself in his bed back home. Sunlight filtered through his curtains and caught dust motes before falling onto the bed.

Yuuri was asleep.

“Wake up, Yuuri.” Viktor’s voice was hoarse and gravelly.

“Five more minutes,” Yuuri mumbled. But it wasn’t in Russian, or Japanese. It was English. “This is the first time I’ve slept in a while.”

Viktor blinked. “Pardon?”

Yuuri turned onto his back before his eyelids fluttered open. He looked like an angel, wrapped in white and bathed in a late morning glow.

“I think I’m dead, Viktor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for comments ! <3 I love them (and you) more than Makkachin loves belly rubs.


	5. Now I'm gonna be up all night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR COMMENTS! <3
> 
> I ~~PROMISE~~~ that the happy ending tag is accurate lmao
> 
> Chapter title lyrics from Up All Night by Owl City

Viktor jolted awake, feeling as if he had fallen three stories without hitting the ground.  
His neck ached and his teeth felt fuzzy. He had slept long enough for the sun to be throwing weak sunlight through the window of Yuuri’s room. It was just as well. He hadn’t booked a place to stay the night—or thought of anything past finding Yuuri.  
Yuuri, who hadn’t moved in the night, but whose eyelashes fluttered at the sound of Viktor’s shoes against the linoleum floor.  
“Yuuri,” his voice was thick with emotion as he took Yuuri’s hand back in his. “Ohayou.”  
The flutter of his eyes moving under their lids stopped.  
“Yuuri, you hear me, don’t you?” Viktor forced a smile, although there was no one to see it. “How silly of me. Coming in and crying all over you without so much as a greeting.” He patted Yuuri’s hand. It was warm, something Viktor’s hands naturally lacked.   
“It was just a lot, you know? I feel like I’ve known you forever, with those dreams we’ve had. Seeing you in person…well…” Viktor shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You’re just as handsome as when you were in my rink…and my living room. “  
He took in a shaky breath. “Mila told me where you were. I know you’re probably still mad about the Romeo and Juliet thing, but don’t worry. As soon as we get home, the pills will go in the trash. Out the door, so Makka won’t get any ideas. I’m here for you.”  
He set Yuuri’s hand gently back onto the hospital blankets, before stopping in the room’s closet-size bathroom to splash water on his face.  
He waited until the nurses replaced the IV bags before telling Yuuri he’d be stepping out.  
He booked a room in a hotel two blocks from the hospital, taking a shower before finding the nearest florist. He filled the hospital room with the brightest flowers he could find— bouquets of sunflowers and lilies. He saved the wreath of roses for the windowsill closest to Yuuri. He ate dinner in the room, narrating the story of his first Grand Prix between bites of bland cafeteria food.  
Yakov waited three days to call Viktor. He tried ignoring it the first time, but he called again. Viktor picked up as he watched Yuuri’s chest rise and fall in tune with the monitor behind him. He expected anger, but he found something else.  
“Thank God, Vitya. Where are you?”  
Viktor hesitated, if only because of the sudden lump in his throat. This was going to be hard to explain.  
“Sochi.” Viktor looked down, pulling at a loose thread on his shirt.  
“If you need help, you don’t need to go to Sochi, my boy. We are here for you.”  
“Sorry?” Viktor felt an odd smile stretch on his face.  
“You go missing, Yura goes to your apartment. We find the letters and the bottles. If it wasn’t for your dog walker, we would have the called the president for a search party. What is going on, boy?”  
“Oh.”  
“Oh doesn’t even start to explain it. Where are you? Lilia and I will go there. Did you hospitalize yourself?”  
Nothing got past his coach.  
“No. I’m not the one in the hospital.”  
Stunned silence.  
“I…I’m okay. Just worried for a friend.” Viktor’s grip on his phone tightened.  
Sure. Just worried for a man I’m in love with, who I’ve only met in dreams and in the rink at 1 am. By the way, he’s in a coma.  
Friend was easier.  
“You’re there for that Japanese skater. I missed you becoming friends.” Yakov grumbled. “Nevermind… I am glad you are well. Send him my well wishes.”  
Viktor’s heart rose into his chest. “I’ll tell Yuuri that.”  
Yakov made a noise between surprise and contempt. But he wasn’t yelling Viktor into an early grave.  
“Lilia wants you to check in every evening. By phone is fine. Mila told me about the Instantgramma.”  
Viktor laughed. “Thank you batya.”  
Viktor floated through the rest of the day. Somehow, Yakov knew exactly when to push and when to stand back. It had only been three days, but it felt even longer. The ache of missing Yuuri when he was so close had started to become unbearable.  
Yuuri didn’t appear at the bedside, or on the hotel couch. Viktor prayed. He had looked up the closest catholic church to see if he could attend mass and earn more favor. He planned to go into confessional, and instead rode the light feeling back to his hotel room when the sun set. He took a long detour, walking along the coast to watch the sun paint the water a vivid orange.

But the most beautiful sight was Yuuri.

He must have been wearing his Team Japan gear when the plane crashed.

He was still in it, leaning against the wrought iron fence that separated the sidewalk from the water. Yuuri had said he was haunting him, but it almost felt like the opposite.  
“Yuuri! Oh Yuuri,” Viktor reached out before remembering—his fingers went through the image of Yuuri. The metal and salt water didn’t taste as strong when mixed with sea air.  
“Where are we?” Yuuri seemed unphased, standing straight and turning to him with a soft smile. Viktor longed to see it where he could cup his soft face in his hands and not feel like he had ran his fingers through a stray draft.  
“Sochi. You’ve never been?” Viktor’s heart skipped a beat.  
“No.” His brow furrowed. “I think I was on my way to Sochi before. But I don’t remember getting there. I only recognize St. Petersburg. But…you were gone… And now I’m here.”  
“You don’t control it?”  
“Control what?”  
“Your…. Moving.” Viktor waved his hands vaguely, and Yuuri blushed.  
“I don’t know. I think I’m connected to you somehow. I just wish I was connected to you before I died.”  
“Yuuri. You’re not dead.” Viktor’s hair stood on end and he moved forward, closing any distance between them. “You were on a plane to the Rostelecom cup last month, and it crashed, and you’re in the hospital in a coma!”  
Yuuri’s face crumpled into confusion. “I don’t remember any of that.”  
“You’re alive, Yuuri. I held your hand. You’re breathing with a machine and you’re covered in tubes, but you’re definitely not dead.”  
“Then why am I here?” Yuuri traced the surface of the fence, bumpy with layers of old paint.  
“I don’t know. We don’t know a lot of stuff, but I know you’re alive, and you’re okay!” He pointed in the vague direction of the hospital. “We…we just need to get you back into your body.”  
“I can’t.” Yuuri said softly, and anger burned up Viktor’s throat.  
“What do you mean? You need to go back. You’re so close!”  
“I told you! I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know why I show up where I do. It’s like I wake up.. and I’m there. And you’re there. If I was alive, I think I would be where I belong.”  
You belong with me.  
Viktor couldn’t bear to say the words.  
“I’m not going to sleep until you’re back where you’re supposed to be.” Viktor punctuated his promise by biting into his lower lip.  
“What?”  
“You always show up when I’m up when I should be resting. So I’ll wait. Until you’re there.”  
“You’ll be up all night, Viktor. You don’t even know it’ll work.” Yuuri started fidgeting anxiously.  
“What do I have to lose?”  
“I don’t want you to hurt yourself over me.” Yuuri shuffled his feet, but the grass peeking out from the cement didn’t move.  
“I’d die for you, Yuuri. I already decided that, but things are different now.”  
“You what?” Yuuri looked stunned as tears flooded his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.  
“I love you, and it’s too late, and I need you back. I need this.” His chest felt as if he had been hollowed out and scraped raw. His sinuses burned with the threat of tears. He pressed his hand to his eyes to push the feeling away, and when he opened his eyes, Yuuri was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for comments. I love you like Viktor likes Yuuri's soft tummy.


	6. Among our dreams that pay goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Among our dreams that pay goodbye Sailboats, Sky Sailing (who is also Owl City)
> 
> The chapter is a little early due to Life Stuff.
> 
> Warning for this chapter: FEELS

At 7:20 pm: The adrenaline from seeing Yuuri has worn off.  Viktor had been awake for 13 hours. It is still not enough-- Yuuri is nowhere to be found.

Twenty minutes later,Viktor realizes that he is a poor planner. Room service delivers an odd look along with a carafe of drip coffee.

The coffee gave Viktor new strength, but at 1:30 am ,he realized that  good TV stopped playing half an hour before. Actually, all TV stopped playing half an hour ago. Infomercials are not as entertaining as Viktor remembered them.

At 2:48 am, Viktor finished aligning every piece of art in the hotel halls. He rearranged  all the fifth floor artwork into color order. 

3:14 am: The moment when  Viktor had never felt closer to thirty.

At 4:08 am  Viktor realized that this entire exercise is in vain if he is not close to Yuuri… physical Yuuri. The cold night air and walk to the hospital woke him up enough to keep his eyes open for another four hours.

Viktor moved on from Vine compilations to reading about liminal spaces on Wikipedia.

11:25 am: Yuuri now knows every embarrassing moment from Viktor’s childhood. Talking keeps Viktor awake, and coma patients are the best therapists.

1:34 pm: Viktor  finished dictating a thesis on the correlation between hours awake and desire to eat bread.

2:58: Viktor ate an entire baguette. Cutting and buttering  one baguette takes 30 minutes.

The nurse that comes to change Yuuri’s feeding tube at 4 pm looked concerned, but said nothing.

7:00 pm: 24 hours. No sign of Yuuri.

9:00 pm:  Viktor repeatedly reminded himself that he would have a thousand migraines  if that meant a life with Yuuri.

3:21 pm: Viktor is shaken awake by a nurse he recognizes.  The head nurse has requested that he leave and rest somewhere else.

 

Yuuri is still asleep.

Every muscle in Viktor’s body aches and protests, but he ignores the pain as he kneels next to Yuuri’s bed. He has Yuuri’s heart and breathing rate memorized—they look the same, but the haze of sleep smothers Viktor so much he isn’t entirely sure if this is the real world.

“Yuuri, are you in there?” His voice is dry and raspy. “Please. I’m sorry I couldn’t do it for any longer. I’ll try again.”

Yuuri doesn’t even twitch, his eyes still beneath his eyelids. Viktor sees, as if for the first time, the gauze and tubes holding Yuuri together. The patch of hair that sticks up oddly underneath a bandage.

He is so warm, and so soft and familiar.

He’s there.

And Viktor shatters.

“I’m so sorry, Yuuri. I just wanted you back.” Viktor sobbed, pressing Yuuri’s warm and soft hand against his face.

He wanted Yuuri.

He didn’t want Yuuri trapped in a broken, useless body. He didn’t want Yuuri weighed down by something he had been free of. If this Yuuri was anything like the one he knew in his dreams… he had listened, and this was all Viktor’s fault.

He had doomed Yuuri to be trapped, just so he could hold him.

The nurse that shook Viktor awake stepped forward, replacing the oxygen monitor clipped to Yuuri’s finger.

“Maybe we should give you some anesthetic as well.” The young nurses words push Viktor out of his daydream.

“Excuse me?”

“Patients in the ICU often are given a paralytic to help with the discomfort of intubation.”

“I don’t want him uncomfortable.” Viktor looked down at Yuuri. He looks so beautiful and peaceful. Almost at beautiful as when he was awake.

“Of course. I’m just saying… until he’s weaned off of it, he won’t be moving much.”

“When will he be taken off it it? Viktor swallowed back the lump in his throat. Death sounded pretty appealing.

“If he holds up with his improvement, I can have the doctor order it by morning.”

“He’s improving?” Viktor stood up, his heart fluttering. He felt dizzy, the axis of his world shifting by a few degrees.

“His breathing has improved since you came, and his brain activity has changed. Something about you and your baguette, maybe?”

Viktor swept the nurse into a hug. She looked young, but Viktor didn’t really care about social standards right then and there.

“Thank you—Doctor…?” Viktor let go, straightening his back.

“Nurse. You can call me Natasha. If you stick around, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” She patted his arm. “Keep being a good boyfriend.”

Viktor turned red to the tips of his ears. He didn’t dare say anything. He avoided eye contact, instead looking toward Yuuri. He hadn’t moved at all. The monitors looked the same. He looked peacefully arranged.

“Can….can you tell me what happened? To him?” Viktor stumbled over his words. The other doctors and nurses had ignored him, and all the medical charts were stored on a password-locked computer terminal  outside of the room.

“Hm? I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened.  I know as much as what was on the news. This was the closest trauma hospital to where the plane was.”

“No. I mean. What is wrong with him.” Viktor swallowed. “Why is he…asleep?”

“Oh. Well, major blunt force trauma. He has broken ribs, and had surgery to repair some internal bleeding. He has burns on his right side, but he received grafts when he arrived. He may be dealing with some spinal cord injuries. It is hard to tell. He’s had minor brain swelling, but nothing incompatible with life.”

“Incompatible with life.” Viktor felt his throat swell with emotion.

“I’m sorry darling. Medicine is an art as much as it is a science. The longer a person is in a coma, the less likely it is for them to wake up. Other than pain management…we don’t know why he isn’t awake.”

“Is that why they want to transfer him to Japan?”

“There’s a lot of rumors over that.” Natasha crossed her arms. “Right now… it won’t happen. Too expensive, and too risky. It would be all over the news, and many things could go wrong.  It would be better to have the family here.”

“They can’t.” Viktor felt defensive. But his dream-world held true in his research. Yuuri’s family was working hard at their inn, trying to make money to cover costs. Coming to see Yuuri would mean shutting down their income. It would have to be  _ really bad  _ for them to visit, wouldn’t it?

Natasha waved a hand. “It’s none of my business. It’s my job to keep Mr. Katsuki healthy and comfortable. He’s a good patient. I can tell he’s loved.”

Viktor tried to focus on Natasha’s first words— _ he’s improving _ \- rather than all the caveats and details that followed.

He ate dinner that night with Yuuri, ordering takeout Chinese and carrying it into the room. He split the container in half, setting it on Yuuri’s side of the bedside table. He  knew it was pointless—he had a tube pumping all the nutrients he needed into his body .The machine snaked down his nose and throat into his stomach. It was another thing Viktor researched in his many hours of free time. Just thinking about it make him cough… but Yuuri lay peacefully with it taped to his cheek.

“Getting tired of me yet?” Viktor broke the silence with a nervous laugh.  He could remember a dream when he had done the same thing, except Yuuri was alive and well, and they were in a hotel room. Viktor had hand-fed Yuuri while Minako and Mari heckled them lovingly.

That Mari had always followed Yuuri to his  big competitions.

Where was she now?

Viktor pulled out his phone. At first, it felt rude. But Natasha had done her vital rounds, and there was no one bothering to watch him.

Yutopia late 90’s website was still in his history.

_ “Hello, Yutopia Katsuki.” _

Shit. He doesn’t understand a word except  _ Katsuki,  _  the only Japanese word he’s heard in his waking world.

“Um, hello. Do you…English?”

“Oh! Ah, please wait.” The syllables were long and awkward and familiar. Mama.

There was a plastic thunk and a brief pause before the phone was picked up again.

“Hello. Can I help?”

“Yes. Well, I don’t know.” Viktor felt the lump rise in his throat again.

“If this is press, no comment.” Mari’s tone was firm and tired.

“It’s not.” Viktor said with renewed conviction. “Do you have an iphone?”

“Yeah?” Mari sounded extremely suspicious. “Do you want to make a reservation?”

“No.” Viktor took in a deep breath. “But, if you call me on Facetime, you can see Yuuri.”

The line was silent. “Hello?” Viktor wondered if he had been hung up on. He glanced at his phone—the call was still connected.

“Who are you?” Mari said it darkly. Something—or many things must have happened her to harden her like this.  She had always been a bit tough-love, but never this suspicious.

“I have Skype too. I’d use Yuuri’s phone, but I think it’s at the bottom of the Black Sea.”

“Who  _ are you?” _

“Viktor Nikiforov.”

“Oh wow. Yuuri—“

“I know. It’s why I’m here.” He had no explanation for  _ why _ he was actually here. He would have to come up with an elaborate lie that sounded better than  _ I’ve dreamed about you for over a year. _

“Okay… hold on.” The receiver rustled again, before Viktor’s end beeped with the disconnected call warning. He barely had time before a string of letters and numerical nonsense attached to a Softbank address flashed on his screen. Mari’s expression went from guarded suspicion to outright shock.

“You  _ are _ Viktor Nikiforov.”

He consciously smoothed back his hair and made sure to keep the camera at the right angle.

“I am. But this is more important.” He tapped the screen, flipping the camera to back view.  He caught himself staring at Yuuri, but he could hear Mari’s gasp. She called for her mother— Viktor could only assume, as all he could hear was Yuuri’s name.

Hushed and shocked whispers of his name. Then sweet nothings, long winding sentences dedicated to Yuuri that slipped past Viktor’s comprehension. He stood, pushing aside the bedside table to get closer to Yuuri. His eyelashes fluttered, his eyes moving under their lids again. But he didn’t open them again, and Natasha remained outside of the room. Viktor became an accessory to the experience, sitting on his knees, listening to the smooth song-like conversation. When he looked at the screen, both Mari and Hiroko’s cheeks were tear-stained. But through it, they smiled.

<center>   <img src="https://i.imgur.com/RHxIShTl.gif" alt="divider" /> </center>

They reduced the paralytic anesthesia, but Yuuri remained the same. He slept peacefully, moving only when the nurses came in to adjust him.

He added taking pictures of Yuuri to his daily routine. He woke up, getting a small breakfast before picking a new flower or two to replace those that had wilted the day before. Mari got pictures of him in bed, his profile as they suctioned his vent, even during blood draws.

Yuuri looked pretty no matter what.

The only shot he didn’t text to Mari was the one he took when Yuuri’s eyes fluttered open.

They were too far away and empty. Viktor hid it in two layers of folders, too scared to delete it.

Mari indulged him. After three days of updates, each new shot was returned with a quick snap of a photo frame or a page from  an album. It started out as just ice skating competition shots. Then it was family shots—birthdays, festivals. Yuuri and Mari together when they were younger. Yuuri with round cheeks and chubby legs, wearing navy blue with a bright yellow hat. Mari in the stereotypical Japanese school uniform, fresh and crisp, hugging her little brother.

 

However, the one photo that took the sacred place of home screen was the one Mari sent him on a Thursday afternoon. It had been a week, and Viktor was losing hope. Yuuri was off the medicine, but he hadn’t woken up beyond the occasional empty flutter of his eyes. Mari rarely sent explanations with the photos-- she told him during their video chats that she hated written English. But that day, she sent a carefully written explanation with the shot of an elementary-school-aged Yuuri, cuddling a toy poodle.

“Yuuri and Vicchan. His tag says Victor.”

Viktor’s heart swelled, and he saved it and set it to his lock screen without thinking. Maybe those year-long dreams had some connection to reality. The Yuuri of his dreams called him his idol- had this Yuuri loved him too?

The floating feeling crashed down.

If this Yuuri knew him, what had Viktor done? Nothing, but wasted his time. If he had spent half the time on Google as he had this past week, maybe he could have been with Yuuri.  The Yuuri who was awake and healthy, and not wandering around as a ghost.

 

“Viktor… can we talk?” Natasha had snuck into the room quietly, kneeling so she was on level with Viktor, who had pulled the only chair in the room to Yuuri’s bedside.

 

Viktor blinked, snapping out of his reverie. “Of course.”

 

Natasha rested her hand on his. She seemed much too young to be a nurse. Or maybe Viktor just felt aged with this experience. Who knew.

 

“We’re moving Yuuri.”

 

Viktor felt disjointed. “He doesn’t need the ICU anymore?”

 

Natasha let out a shaky breath. “He’s being moved to palliative care. It’s been nearly five weeks. The doctor thinks it’s better to make sure he’s comfortable.”

 

“Wait.” The word edged at him from his childhood. “They want to move him to end of life care?” The words barely came out, suffocated by emotion.

Natasha squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry, darling.”

 

Sleep didn’t come easily, even with the exhaustion of hours of tears. He felt squeezed dry, wrung out down to each cell.

He couldn’t leave Yuuri alone, especially in his last hours in the one place where they were trying to fix him.

 

But staring at him, sleeping so peacefully became unbearable. So Viktor ran to the pharmacy before it closed. He took an extra pill, just in case he still had his built tolerance. He edged onto the bed, heavy with exhaustion, waiting for the sleep aid to drag him down the small difference that was left.  Before, he was too scared to cross that line. But if the hospital gave up on him… what was there to lose? He carefully arranged himself around and under the various tubes and censors. He made sure not to lean against Yuuri’s side. He was smaller than him, which made it easier to curl around him in the limited space.

 

Dream Yuuri slept soundly too. Their bed in St. Petersburg was much larger, and weighed down by a poodle at his feet.

But Viktor still couldn’t escape the fear of the real world.

Yuuri was warm. Too warm, his cheeks red and hair glued to his forehead with sweat. A strong fever. Strong enough that Yuuri had stripped his clothes off  in his sleep-- his shirt wound around Makkachin’s stomach.

“Solnyshko, good morning.” Viktor cooed, brushing the damp hair away from his lover’s face. This time, he reacted, his nose wrinkling and his hand blindly trying to bat Viktor away.

“You’re burning up. Can I take care of you?” Yuuri hummed his response, his hand finding Viktor before limply resting against it. He slid his arms under Yuuri’s knee’s, carrying him into the bathroom. A sleepy smile curled on Yuuri’s lips, before they pressed together after the splash of cold water.

“What’re you doing?” His words were slurred with sleepiness. It always took Yuuri too long to join the waking world.

“You’re covered in sweat.” Viktor was thankful for the changed he had made to his apartment-- mainly, the bathtub and the long hose shower head. He tilted Yuuri’s head back as he poured water over it.

“You should be resting. You just got better.”  His words tugged at Viktor’s heartstrings. Of course.  Yuuri was sick because of him. Yuuri, resting against his chest, had done the same for him, and now was getting punished for it.

“I want to take care of you.” Viktor’s voice warbled with enough emotion for Yuuri to open his eyes. It only made it worse, to see the bright, warm honey-brown.. So alive, if hazy with fever.

“Can you use your shampoo?” This Yuuri wasn’t so stubborn. Viktor relished it, squeezing a weeks worth of salon shampoo into his palm, and massaging it into Yuuri’s scalp.

“Thank you.” Yuuri said shyly. “I feel better. It smells like you.”

“I’m not done yet.” Viktor scrubbed between Yuuri’s fingers, and the curve of his neck, ignoring himself and his hair he knew would frizz without product to tame it. He wrapped Yuuri in the softest towel he could find as he blinked away the water gathering on his dark eyelashes.

“I’m not that sick.” Yuuri grumbled as Viktor dried him off. He wore the towel like a poncho as Viktor let him pad softly back into the bedroom. Viktor hated it, but he knew Yuuri would want to wear his old sweatpants and too-big college t shirt. It was like wrapping a gold medal in a mcdonalds bag-- it hid how beautiful he was. 

The medicine Yuuri had bought for Viktor was still on the kitchen counter. It was meant for children, but the gesture warmed Victor’s heart. Yuuri was still studying Russian, and medicine names were still way beyond coffee-shop lessons. Yuuri could have even pushed past his anxiety (he mainly practiced with Victor, and occasionally piped up in conversation at the rink) and asked a drug store employee.

It would work, even though Yuuri grimaced at the spoonful of syrup Viktor put to his lips. He didn’t enjoy it any more than Viktor had- the ghost of the flavor on his lips after Viktor finished the dose with a kiss.

“Vitya, that’s a bad idea.” Yuuri blushed. Viktor ached at the familiar term, the feeling healing and painful all at the same time.

  
  


Viktor awoke in the hospital to the buzzing ringtone he had set for Mari’s number. Only an hour had passed since he had taken the sleeping pills.

Long enough for the news to reach them, most likely.

He opened the facetime request, unexpectedly meeting a hushed gasp. He had forgotten how close he had nestled to Yuuri, both their faces in the frame.

 

“...hello, Viktor.”  Mari’s voice dropped. They had only talked a few times-- the time difference and their mutual intelligibility exhausting both of them. But the Mari on the screen and the Mari he knew behind his closed eyes… they seemed pretty similar.

 

“They’re moving Yuuri.” Viktor had to push past the emotion clogging his throat.

 

“I know. We’re working on flying to  Sochi.” Her lips quivered, but she didn’t cry as easily as her little brother.

 

“I’ll book them.” Viktor sat up, his hair sticking up in the back. He nearly smacked his head on Yuuri’s heart rate monitor.

“No, it’s okay--”

“Please. I know the best airlines, I have the miles. I’ll know when to get there, so you won’t have to worry about finding someone who speaks english.”

“Viktor…”

Viktor looked steadily into the camera. Once he decided on something, there was no shaking him on it. That was one of the reasons Yakov had so many grey hairs.

“How long have you known Yuuri?”

Viktor faltered. In the flesh? Two weeks at most. In his dreams? A year. But it felt like much longer and meaningful than any relationship Viktor had before.

 

“A while.” Viktor blurted out, knowing that waiting too long would seem suspicious. 

 

“Oh.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You love him, don’t you?” Mari struggled with the word, lightly touching the center of her chest in case the meaning didn’t translate. Oh, it did.

 

“Very much so,” Viktor nodded, ducking his head to look at the warm body next to him.

Mari looked far away in thought.

“Tell Yuuri I love him, too. Okay?”

“I’m sure he knows.” Viktor watched the mechanical rise and fall of Yuuri’s chest.

 

“But he needs to hear it. After this year… and what happened…” The tears finally slid down Mari’s cheeks. “I’m glad you’re there.”

 

“Tell him.” He flipped the camera so that it faced only Yuuri, brushing his hair back as he held his phone close to Yuuri’s face. If he angled it just right, it missed the tracheostomy and tubes running into him. Mari’s words melted into the language he did not know, before falling apart into sobs.


	7. There's something about you/That makes me feel alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's something about you/That makes me feel alive-- Honey and The Bee, Owl City
> 
> TW: injury/gore, plane crash description, trauma in this chapter

He hung up, rather than pressuring her for a goodbye, when the nurse came in to move Yuuri.

Viktor crawled off his bed, unashamed, and crept out into the hallway. The sleep aid coursing through his veins made his head heavy and fuzzy. For a moment, he assumed he was back asleep, and it was his Yuuri, and not the Yuuri of this world. Scrunched up on a bench, his head in his hands. Always in his team gear-- Yuuri was here, but not close enough.

Viktor quickly closed the distance between them, falling onto his knees, pressing his hands onto Yuuri’s. He tasted the metal and seawater again, the pressure, before his hands met the hard wood of the bench.

Yuuri was upset.

 

“Yuuri! You’re so close!” Viktor couldn’t help but smile up at the ghost before him, even at his tragic expression.

 

“I’m scared.” Yuuri’s voice shook. Viktor blinked, and his beautiful image changed. The hand resting on his knee became  the angry red of a deep burn, blood seeping from his hair into his eyes. His glasses were cracked and hung crookedly off his face, and sea water dripped off his soaked body and onto the floor.

 

“Scared? It’s over, it’s all over, I promise. They healed you. They just need you back.” Viktor’s voice broke. He could feel the cold seep into his skin. His ribs ached with a phantom pain. He could smell jet fuel. But what mattered was the Yuuri in front of him.

 

“I can’t do it,” Yuuri shivered.

 

“You can. I know you can. You got silver at the Grand Prix, starting from 6th place. You can do anything.” Viktor didn’t acknowledge that the Grand Prix series had never happened for Yuuri. It had, for them together, in another world.

 

Viktor felt the blood drop onto his hand, but when he blinked, it was gone. The bench  in front of him was empty, and he looked like a fool. He couldn’t see it, but he felt it.  

It kept its hold on him down the hallway, dragging him under the second he sunk into the couch.

 

He knew it wasn’t his favorite world when the kanji scrolled past his eyes and he understood. When he had to nudge up frames up his nose, and when he didn’t have to duck under the door frame that led into the familiar Yutopia hallway. He put the cellphone into the pocket of sweatpants Viktor Nikiforov wouldn’t be caught dead in, He tugged a grey hard-shell suitcase behind him. It caught on the edge, and Viktor realized when he tried to tug it along that he was not Yuuri. No,he was merely along for the ride, stepping down the stairs along with him, staring out behind his eyes. He felt but did not share Yuuri’s embarrassment of the display of the NHK trophy gold still displayed in the common room. He only felt longing and pride as Yuuri fumbled with his jersey’s zipper before stepping out into the damp cold of the inn driveway.

 

“ _ I wish we could see you in person, Yuu-kun.  We’ll be cheering you on from the viewing party at least.”  _  His mother hummed from the front seat of the van. The flight was in three hours.  There was no time to waste, but his family had insisted on seeing him off at the airport. He couldn’t bear to make them wake up any earlier. The sun wasn’t even up. Yuuri hadn’t bothered to go to sleep-- instead hoping the early morning would help him sleep on the plane ride to Sochi.

“ _ I understand.”  _ He never expected his family to attend his competitions-- most of the them had occured in the states, under Celestino. But it had been too long between visits, and Yuuri’s first  GPF qualifier taking place in Japan had been the perfect excuse to go home.

Viktor watched the scenery out the window along with Yuuri. He saw the towns wake up slowly, before the road melted into highway, and highway turned into tarmac. Yuuri’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the litany of photographs his mother took on her ten-year old camera. Mari only took one, leaning into her not-so-little brother’s shoulder, before leaving with a quick squeeze to his side.

It didn’t feel like a permanent goodbye.

Viktor watched youtube videos of his old competition skates along side Yuuri at the gate. He felt the anxiety creep in as boarding time began. It would be an endless march of travel-- from Fukuoka to Incheon Airport, then from Korea into Sheremetyevo in Moscow. He wouldn’t reach Sochi for another 25 hours worth of travel.

Viktor dreaded knowing that Yuuri wouldn’t know when he reached Sochi at all.

He read along with Yuuri during the longest flight. He couldn’t help but feel elated at the travel Russian book Yuuri studied. He rode the light feeling of intimacy- of being let into Yuuri’s life-- forgetting where or why he was until his environment violently reminded him.

It came out of the blue-- a violent lurch that pulled Yuuri to the limits of his  seat belt. Pain bloomed underneath his skin, but he didn’t have time to think before he was thrown side to side. Oxygen masks clattered from the ceiling and a high-pitched whine overtook the music playing from Yuuri’s earbuds. The overhead speaker sparked to life, but the flight attendants hurried Russian bled into meaningless panic for Yuuri’s ears. He batted at the yellow oxygen mask hanging at his head, his fingers just touching it before the jerk of the airplane moved it away. Sochi was just far enough away for this flight to  be on a jet rather than a smaller commuter plane-- Viktor prayed in thanks for the realization as he saw the orange of fire out of the corner of Yuuri’s eye before they squeezed shut in fear.

 

The pain of hitting was near unbearable.  Yuuri’s head split against metal and plastic, and the seat behind him pushed into his chest. He squinted past the pain and blood, brushing his ruined glasses off his face. His heart beat out of his chest, and he felt like throwing up. The entire front of the aircraft was already under water and dark. Hair and the hats of the flight attendance floated to the surface. Yuuri struggled to unbuckle himself, using his core strength to pull himself out of the tangle of metal and fabric surrounding him Viktor felt like he was going to be sick as he brushed past the touch of lifeless hands and sides still sitting in the seats. He was so scared, but so, so proud of Yuuri, who fought for the only above-water emergency exit, pushing his entire body against it while it screamed in pain. The pride died out into terror when Yuuri stopped, sliding back into the fuselage of the plane. He saw something move-- struggle-- and his heart beat even faster. His hands felt underwater before they found the buckle and the arms of the only other person who looked alive. They limped alongside Yuuri, before he pushed him out in front of him. The entire plane groaned as metal bent and broke. The water stung as Yuuri swam through an inescapable patch of lit jet fuel, the flame scorching his skin. But Yuuri ignored it-- only adding it to the rest of his pain. He swam to the wing-- the only steady piece of flotsam left in the chaos around them. He pulled the other survivor onto it with him, before collapsing in the afternoon sun.

Viktor lay with Yuuri, as the banging from the front of the aircraft fell silent, and his vision blurred  and darkened with pain.

The survivor said something that Yuuri didn’t understand.

“ _ There’s no such thing as luck.”  _ Yuuri replied in his native tongue, his mouth thick and heavy with the taste of blood. The salt water did nothing to quench his thirst as the sun moved inches across the sky.

Viktor realized an hour into waiting that he had reached his breaking point. A mere observer, he wished for death. But Yuuri clung on, baking in the winter sun. His ribs ached with each breath and rock from the waves. His skin screamed in protest of any molecule that touched it. 

He waited.

His eyes only focused in the late afternoon light, when the rhythmic chop of helicopter blades broke the air.

He felt like he would die if he moved, but he did anyway, moving his mostly intact arm in the biggest sweep he could. He held on as the helicopter flew away, only to be replaced by  the roar of a rubber boat. The roar of an engine sent panic into him, taking the last of his energy as gloved hands pulled him onto the boat. He saw a silver-blond man’s face before it slipped away into darkness.

 

Viktor jolted away, as if he had been pulling at consciousness for the whole trip. The pain in his ribs and arm faded, but he felt the electric ghost of it settle in his stomach. He crawled forward, unsure if he could walk. Then he remembered-- he was healthy, and whole. It was Yuuri who had gone through that. It was Yuuri who had every right to be terrified.

Viktor crept up into the chair he kept close to Yuuri. He took his hand, placing a gentle kiss to each knuckle.

If only they had a lifetime of love to heal.

 

“Why are you kissing that? I’m over here.” Yuuri’s voice was harsh... And hurt. Viktor looked up, his heart jumping at the ghost in the room.

 

“I can only kiss you here..” Viktor offered his feeble  contribution to the conversation. Had he taken too long? Was Yuuri to turn into a bitter spirit, doomed to wander alone? He was back, but still battered and bruised, a puddle  of seawater at his feet.

 

“That’s not me.” The ghost said. Yuuri could never be a cruel spirit-- his expression was too hurt and sweet, and shame burned at Viktor for even thinking that it was possible.

 

“But… it is?” Viktor felt helpless.

 

“I want you to kiss  _ me.” _ Yuuri bit out, stomping forward.  Viktor was frozen in shock and fear-- some of it remaining from the nightmare he had just woken from.

 

“I am.” Viktor said weakly. Yuuri’s image moved to take his hand from Viktor’s grasp, his stubborn anger melting into confusion and fear.

 

“Yuuri?”

No one could answer as alarms  shrieked and blared. A blue light flickered outside Yuuri’s door.  Natasha rushed in, followed by the team of three other people. They rushed in, confused by the sudden spike in blood pressure and heart rate. Yuuri’s fingers slipped out of Viktor’s grasp.  Viktor let himself be pushed aside by the tide, before a miracle pulled him back in.

 

“Viktor?”


	8. You reached down out of nowhere/And picked my heart up off the floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri wakes up.  
> Natasha finds out a lot about her favorite patient (and his favorite visitor)  
> Phichit debuts.  
> Yuuri comes to an awful recollection.  
> & Plans for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You reached down out of nowhere/And picked my heart up off the floor  
> Cant Live Without You- Owl City
> 
> Welcome to the chapter where it is SUPER OBVIOUS I didn't write it in chapters and split it after writing, and therefore you have an un-proportionately large chapter with several iconic moments.
> 
> Halfway there~ (Chapter wise!!)
> 
> Here is a timeline comparing canon (dreamworld) with the fic timeline. Becareful, as the last line contains a minor spoiler for the end of the chapter https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Ak6F_HaV-xwRQubIMjg5ZjILjc9nuQasAnmgLGKw5yE/edit?usp=sharing

Natasha froze at the rough voice that passed the lips of her favorite patient. She watched as his eyes fluttered open and focused, searching for someone he didn’t find right away. Viktor pushed past the team the second his name reached his ears, but he didn’t dare touch the body before him.

Yuuri licked his lips, blinking slowly, as if he was slowly stretching into his waking body. “Is that really you?” Yuuri squinted. Viktor leaned in, nodding, his heart in his throat as Yuuri’s hands closed around his face and pulled it closer.

“Viktor Nikiforov.” He breathed in awe.

 

“I’m a big fan.” Viktor smiled, and a sweet blush graced Yuuri’s pale skin.

 

“You were kissing me.” His voice was weak and breathy, and the rhythm of the machine was broken as Yuuri pushed back against the breath forced into him. He was slipping back into his native language, but viktor could tell exactly what he was saying.  _ Kiss _ .

 

“Your hand, yes.” Viktor’s cheeks flushed. He had a large audience. Natasha fell back into conversation  with the team that had rushed in expecting a crash and resuscitation. 

  
  


Yuuri's eyes sparkled, his hands falling off of Viktor’s cheeks and onto his chest. 

 

“Am I really awake ?” Yuuri's voice cracked again. Natasha came back, shining a light in Yuuri’s right eye, then the left, and then repeating the process. 

 

“Can you tell me your name ?” Natasha leaned so she was eye level with Yuuri. The rest of the team left. 

 

“Katsuki... Yuuri… Yuuri Katsuki,” he stumbled, his mouth dry. 

 

“Can he have water ?” Viktor said his voice tinged with worry. 

 

“We should wait until we have his airway reassessed. Then they’ll start him on nectar thickness fluid to be safe .” Natasha answered in quick Russian. Yuuri squinted at them. 

 

“Yuuri, honey, how old are you?”

 

“Twenty three.” He finally switched to English 

 

“Do you know where you are right now?”

 

“A very nice hospital.” Yuuri murmured. His vital signs were back to normal. 

 

“You’re in a hospital in Sochi, Russia, darling.” Natasha hummed , panic rising in Yuuri’s face 

 

“The Rostelecom Cup! I’m gonna miss it!” His heart rate jumped and his hands shook as he bit at his fingernails. 

 

Viktor felt his words tangle in his throat. 

 

Was it okay to tell him? Wasn’t he better off not knowing what he went through ? 

 

“You’ve been in a coma for three weeks, honey. You’re safe here. Can you touch your left shoulder with your right arm?” Nurse Natasha’s  voice was calm and even.

 

Yuuri took several seconds before following the command. 

 

“Can you touch your right ear with your left arm?” 

 

Yuuri did as he was told. 

 

“Can you bend your left knee ?”

 

Yuuri was still. 

 

“Yuuri, can you bend your right knee ?” 

 

“I’m trying.” Yuuri’s face pinched into frustration before he buried it in his hands. “ I-I can’t...”

 

Viktor watched Natasha’s face, as if she was a good measure for whether he should be worried or not. But her expression didn’t even twitch.

 

“Don’t worry, hun. You still have some swelling. It’s a miracle you’re alive. Take it slow.” She patted Yuuri’s arms, even as tears filled his eyes and  splashed downward.

 

“It’s the middle of the night. Is there anything we can get you?”

 

“Water,” Yuuri hiccuped.

 

“I’ll get some ice, and we can try that, alright?” Natasha squeezed Yuuri’s hands, before disappearing into the hallway.

 

It had stung to watch Yuuri, empty and sleeping.  But it tore Viktor apart to watch Yuuri crumpled in anguish.

 

“Anything else?” Viktor broke the silence. 

 

Yuuri rubbed his eyes on the back of his fists.  “A bath… pants.” He said each request weakly. “My glasses…”

 

“Hmmm... well, I can get you some clothes. I’ll have to ask Mari about the glasses.”

 

“You know Mari?” Yuuri looked up, interest sparked.

 

“We talked a few times while you were asleep.”  Viktor looked back to where his phone sat on the undersized couch in the corner of the room. “Actually… would you like to talk to her?”

“... a little.” Yuuri's hands fisted in his lap. Viktor leapt to his feet,  unlocking the phone and tapping the right icons without a single thought.

She picked up on the first ring. Viktor held back, flipping the camera to show off Yuuri in all his lucid, bedridden glory.

 

She shrieked.

 

Viktor flipped the camera back, smiling as he held it out to Yuuri. He took it clumsily, before the case slid out of his hands. Viktor swooped in, holding it up for him as new-- hopefully happy-- tears sprung up in Yuuri’s eyes.

 

Viktor wished he could eavesdrop and gain something from it. They both slipped into Japanese-- their local dialect at that-- and all Viktor could hear was  _ Yuuri, Yuuri , Yuuri. _

Hiroko’s voice joined in, and then Toshiya’s. They talked long enough that Viktor dozed off, jolted awake by the phone pressed into his hand.

 

“Mari’s going to text you my prescription.” Yuuri said shyly, his eyes downcast.

 

Viktor was sure he had noticed how dark and thick Yuuri’s lashes were, how perfect they were against his soft skin, tinted pink with the remnant of tears.

 

“Wonderful! I’ll find you some glasses, some clothing… I’ll get us breakfast too!” Viktor felt invigorated with purpose. He remembered from the past year of dreams-- Yuuri loved sweatpants and soft cotton shirts when he wasn’t on the ice.  The few times he had seen Yuuri's closet(mostly when they had started sharing it in their dream-world) it had been full of sweaters and jeans that never made it past the top of Yuuri’s ankles.

 

It was hard to tell-- Yuuri was swamped in the ugly print of a too-big hospital gown… but he was small. Probably smaller than he was when he trained for the start of the season.

 

“What time is it?” Yuuri yawned, and dragged Viktor back to earth.

 

“Oh. 2 in the morning.” Viktor checked his phone.

 

“Have you slept yet?” Yuuri looked past him to the window, and the darkness outside it.

 

“A little…” Viktor smiled, tilting his head to the side.

 

“I don’t think stores are open this late, even in Russia.” Yuuri’s eyelids were heavy, despite his long time spent sleeping.

 

“You’re quite right. I guess I should head back to my hotel.”

 

“...Can you stay?” 

 

This Yuuri wouldn’t look Viktor in the eyes. He could barely ask anything of Viktor without his cheeks reddening and his hands fidgeting in his lap. It felt like old behavior-- something they had moved past already.

Except they hadn’t. This was their first time together, in the flesh and awake. They were strangers-- however doting Viktor was. This was the first time  he had someone he cared for, and he was conscious enough to drink in every detail.

 

Viktor sunk into the  bedside chair. Even without his beautiful soft eyes following the words, it still warmed his heart.

 

“Of course.” Viktor smoothed a piece of hair that had fallen into Yuuri’s eyes. He probably had trimmed it for competition, only to have it grow out without him knowing.

 

Yuuri hummed in pleasure, closing his eyes and rolling his head into Viktor’s hands.

 

“Do you want more?” Viktor’s heart leapt as Yuuri nodded. He combed his fingers through Yuuri’s hair until the push against the breathing machine came more even and Yuuri fell asleep. His heart twinged at the view of Yuuri dozing. He drooled in his sleep, his arms thrown about as much as he could manage in a hospital bed.

 

He was asleep, but not gone.

  
  


<center>   <img src="https://i.imgur.com/RHxIShTl.gif" alt="divider" /> </center>

 

Viktor knew-- from his dreams, at least-- that Yuuri was a late riser. He knew he had enough time to pick up everything Yuuri wanted. He rode a bus to the closest 1-hour optician, picking out the closest frames he could find to Yuuri’s lost pair. He found a pajama set in a boutique store, before picking up piroshky on the way back to the hospital. Breakfast had turned to lunch, but Natasha had told him on the way out that they would be doing an eating assessment within the hour. When Viktor snuck back into the room, Yuuri was awake, a container of green jello and a plastic spoon sitting on a tray on a new bedside table.

 

“Yuuri~!” Viktor sang brightly, and Yuuri’s eyes focused, snapping out of his reverie.

 

“Viktor. You’re really here.” His voice was soft-- judging by the cup and half-empty bottle, he was well enough to enjoy water.

 

“I am. I see you have… jello!” Viktor’s tone dropped as the darkening of Yuuri’s expression.

“Did you ask for something else?” Viktor blinked. It was a simple plastic container with foil at the top. He was sure he’d seen the same thing at every competition and international hotel breakfast.

“I...can’t open it.” Yuuri grumbled. Viktor blinked, before picking at the foil and peeling it back with little issue. He stuck the spoon into it, holding it out.  

“It was, um, slippery.” He offered a cautious smile, and Yuuri took it.  He held the spoon awkwardly-- as if his hands were too big and stiff to hold it steady. The jello slid off the spoon and onto his lap before it could reach his lips. Yuuri flushed, and Viktor immediately tried to look like he was too busy sorting through his shopping bags to notice.

Viktor had found the tablet  first. He had stopped in an Apple store-- buying Yuuri his own phone would do no good. He didn’t live in Russia, and even though he was in an English-speaking hospital, the TV in the room only had russian cable. With his own phone at the bottom of the black sea, Yuuri would feel disconnected. This was the least Yuuri could do.

 

Viktor looked up just in time to see the jello container fly across the room. It hit the opposite wall, clinging like a toy sticky hand  before falling to the floor.

 

Not knowing how to react, Viktor laughed. Yuuri looked stunned, then embarrassed.

 

“I’m glad. I brought you a much better meal.” He pulled out the paper bags that wrapped the piroshky-- still warm despite the ten minute walk to the hospital doors.

 

“Here. Sausage and onion. My favorite.” He winked, and Yuuri took it. It was big enough that he held it without problem, and was able to sink his teeth into the flaky crust. Viktor bit into his, although he mainly felt like watching Yuuri. His eyes shone, before closing in foodie bliss.

 

“S-sorry. I love bread.”

 

“And you don’t get a lot, do you?” Viktor laughed. “I know the diet plan well. It’s a treat for me too. Don’t tell Yakov.” He pressed a finger to his lips.

 

Yuuri smiled, before the anxious look pulled at his mouth again.

“What’s wrong, Yuuri?” Viktor said after another bite.

 

“Does….do you know what my coach did? Since I missed the Cup?”

 

“That depends.” Viktor frowned. “Who's your coach?”

 

“Celestino Cialdini…” The name didn’t ring a bell.

 

“Well.. I’m sure they’ll have you compete in another qualifying event to make up for it. You can’t disqualify for acts of God, after all.” Viktor hummed, taking another large bite of his piroshky.

 

“Yeah…” Yuuri bowed his head, his toes curling in their hospital-issued compression socks.

Along with testing his swallow reflex, they had tested the rest of  Yuuri’s body. He still retained his reflexes, but when asked to move, his legs simply didn’t listen.  His fingers fumbled, and his muscles didn’t work like he wanted them to.

Yuuri’s body was betraying him.

 

It was kind of Victor to talk about it as if it would happen… but there was no way he would be back on the ice in less than a week. It would take days to talk to the ISU, arrange travel… and judging by his family’s reaction… what he had gone through had been a big deal.

 

Enough that they didn’t say anything about it. They gushed over his condition-- over Viktor-- how glad that he was awake. That he would be finally coming home.

 

It had been three weeks. He should have been back in Detroit, practicing figures with Phichit and refining his free skate for the Final. He’d do his traditional call home on his birthday.  Celestino would invite them to his place, and they’d all break the rules with supermarket chocolate cake and an awful beer from Ciao Ciao’s fridge.

 

Just like the last 4 years.

 

Instead, Yuuri was sitting in a hospital bed with a vague idea of what day it was and an even vaguer idea of where he was.

 

“Viktor?”

Viktor immediately responded, humming sweetly and meeting eyes with him.

 

“What day is it?”

 

“Hm? Well, they wrote it on the whiteboard over-- oh.”  Viktor paused as Yuuri squinted. His glasses were in the process of being cut-- it had taken Viktor an hour to convince them to make it without fitting them to the customer.  Thank god the language of optometry was universal-- and an extra helping of cash helped it along.

 

“It’s November 29th.” Viktor read out the date. “Natasha’s your morning nurse, then Sasha will be here later.” Viktor turned his gaze back to Yuuri. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing.” Yuuri said wryly.

 

He had talked to his parents a few hours ago-- and they had said nothing. Too overwhelmed by the revelation of him waking up, perhaps.

 

Yuuri couldn’t decide what was stranger.

His mother, giving up the excuse to gush over the phone.

 

Or the nearly month-long gap in his life.

 

“Here.” Viktor set the ipad in Yuuri’s lap. He ached to climb into bed with Yuuri again, but things were different now. He was awake. Talking. Blushing. He had set up the iPad, switched it from Russian to English, and connected it to the hospital wifi he knew all too well.

 

“What?”

 

“For you. I can’t fix a phone, but I figured you would want to feel connected.”

Yuuri shrunk again, pressing his hands against his face as he came close to tears yet again. “Thank you.” He whispered, rubbing his eyes. He could manage tapping the screen more than holding a spoon steady. As soon as he logged in, his email and i-messaged sprung to life.

 

It started with a well-wish for a safe flight from Phichit-- who was chronically late, and probably sent it long after his phone went into airplane mode. It was quickly followed by a complicated selfie of his best friend dramatically draped across Yuuri’s bed, surrounded by hamsters and  a dramatic purikura ‘ I miss you!’ digitally painted across the top.

 

The smile from his friend’s antics didn’t last long. The next text loaded.

 

Phichit: please be okay

 

Phichit:  please please please be okay

 

Phichit: oh my god, you’re alive. I’m so happy

 

Phichit: James just told me your phone is probably wrecked with water damage. But I need to talk to you. Sorry, you know who I am

 

Phichit: Please be okay

 

Phichit: you’re the only survivor now.  You’re still on the news.

 

Phichit: you totally missed viktor getting gold. I recorded it for you.

 

Phichit: they played the japanese anthem for you at rostelecom

 

Phichit: your country's anthem is super depressing

 

Phichit: remember when we went to the football game and everyone stood up but us

 

Phichit: please wake up

 

2 weeks ago

Phichit: you can do it, yuu-yuu.

 

1 week ago

 

Phichit:  Yuuri, please. For real.

 

20 minutes ago

 

Phichit: Happy birthday, bro

 

Yuuri: thanks

 

Phichit: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Phichit: IF YOU HACKED MY BESTIES ACCOUNT I WILL SKIN YOU ALIVE

 

Yuuri: with your hacker skills?

 

Phichit: YUURI!! OMG!!!

 

Yuuri started typing out a response before a facetime request popped up on his screen. He tapped it, forcing an awkward smile, wincing as his best friend screamed from thousands of miles away.

 

“You’re alive!” 

Viktor leaned over, setting the pajama set on Yuuri’s knees.  Said ‘alive’ man looked up, before quietly motioning Viktor to come closer.

 

Yuuri could say it, but there was no way Phichit would believe him. He’d have to see for himself.

 

“Hello!” Viktor sang, and Yuuri laughed. Phichit had just sang about being alive, and now he looked like he was having a heart attack,

 

“Holy shit! Don’t tell me you staged all this to get with Viktor  Fucking Nikiforov!” Phichit was yelling, but Yuuri couldn’t find the volume button.

 

“No way.  He---uh.” Yuuri stuttered. “He’s… here.” He said definitively.  _ I have no idea why.  _ Went unspoken.

 

“I’m so happy for you, Yuuri. Get that di--”

 

“PHICHIT!” Yuuri screeched. “He’s right there!”

 

“Does he know about the dreams?  Is he really the type to show up butt---” Yuuri smothered the iPad in a pillow, his heart beating out of his chest.  The mid-day nurse poked his head in, before slipping out without a word.

 

“I showed up fully clothed, thank you very much. I haven’t been to Hasetsu yet. But if it compares to the one in my dreams, I am very excited to.” Victor used his years of practice in acting to keep his tone even. He felt like screaming, jumping on the bed- hugging someone. Hugging EVERYONE.

Phichit knew about the dreams. Yuuri knew about the dreams. The way Yuuri looked at him sent a shock right into his heart-- their connection-- however tenuous-- was still there.

 

“I…. I’ll talk to you later, Peach…” Yuuri murmured, unearthing the ipad from the sheets and hanging up.  “Is...that why you’re here?”

 

Victor frowned. “Is what why I’m here?” He was here because Yuuri was real, and alone and hurt.

 

“The dreams.” Yuuri’s fingers curled around the ipad, cheeks heating up yet again. “I’ve been having dreams for a year now. It started out with a nightmare… but then, you showed up. You were my coach, and you moved to Hasetsu…” His face grew warmer with each word.

 

“You won silver at the Grand Prix.” Viktor smiled. “And we got engaged in Barcelona.”

 

Yuuri’s eyes widened and flickered to meet Viktor’s.

 

“It felt like it was real.”

 

“It felt like that for me, too.” Viktor reached out. It felt wrong to have this conversation without touching him. He held his hand.

 

_ Meet him where he is. _

 

Yuuri’s mouth wobbled, but he swallowed back the emotion. “I really wanted it to be real.” He choked out.

 

“Me too.” Viktor leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Yuuri’s. His fine silver hair tickled Yuuri’s cheeks. “Shh. It’s okay.”

 

“N-Natasha said you were here for the last… two weeks?” Viktor nodded. Yuuri’s eyes were sparkling with tears. He must be so tired of crying.

“Are--are you going to stay?” Yuuri’s words shattered him.

 

They had an entire world together-- dream shared between them. Viktor had dropped everything for him-- in their world and this one… and Yuuri still doubted himself.

 

“If you’ll let me.” Viktor squeezed Yuuri’s hand in his. “To be honest… I didn’t have a plan. I have no idea what I’m doing.

 

“It worked before.” Yuuri’s voice was small and fragile.

 

“Then it’ll work again, won’t it?” Viktor pressed a finger under Yuuri’s chin, gently pressing it upwards. Yuuri’s lips curved into a shy, sweet smile, trembling and unsure.

 

“It will.” Viktor re-affirmed, lifting Yuuri’s hand and pressing a kiss to the fourth knuckle of it.

“Stop.”

Viktor looked up, stunned.

“If you’re going to kiss me, do it where it counts.”

Viktor pushed forward, pressing his lips against Yuuri’s. It was awkward at first, until Viktor felt Yuuri press back, finding their rhythm. Viktor bit at his bottom lip, making Yuuri’s lip part.

His  fingers felt for and found Viktor’s collar, threading into it before he tugged him close.

“More.” Yuuri breathed.

 

Natasha cleared her throat.

 

“I’m here to take Yuuri to physical therapy.” She interrupted, pushing a wheelchair into the room.

 

“Oh.” Viktor blushed.

 

“Right now?” Yuuri sounded displeased and petulant. Natasha pursed her lips, putting a hand on her hip.

“Yes, right now.”

 

“It’s fine, Yuuri.  I can go pick up your glasses.” Yuuri looked unconvinced.

“I’ll have a reward for when you come back. I promise.”

 

“I don’t want anything.”

 

“Or anyone? I know. I’ll be here.” Viktor raised an eyebrow, and Yuuri's cheeks burned with embarrassment

 

Viktor would have to think of how to make the make-out session next level. Until then, he would busy himself with picking up Yuuri’s glasses from the 1-hour optometrist.

 

“Thank you for your patronage. Tell Mr… Katsuki  Happy Birthday.” The cashier slid over the glasses case containing the blue plastic glasses he picked out for Yuuri. He slid his credit card before it registered.

“Birthday?” Viktor repeated.

 

“Oh, yes… the prescription had a birth date on it.” The saleswoman looked a little flustered, but Viktor paid no mind. He snatched up the case, trying to recall where the closest bakery was.

He jogged down the street, cursing himself the whole way.

When he finally got back to the hospital, Yuuri was dozing. He looked exhausted, but healthier. The breathing machine was gone, tubes replaced by a red cap. His feeding tube remained in place, the pump whirring and clicking away.

It was too late.

Yuuri stirred as Viktor dropped the bag onto the couch a little too harshly. His eyelids fluttered as the glasses case slammed onto the bedside table.

“I’m sorry, Viktor.” Yuuri mumbled, still half-asleep.

 

“Don’t be sorry. I should be.” Viktor threw up his hands. “I forgot your birthday!”

 

“Not really.” Yuuri seemed nonchalant.

“Just because I didn’t meet you in person until this morning doesn’t mean I--”

 

“I didn’t ever dream about it.I think… it was a competition. I wanted to skate for you more than I wanted a birthday party.”

 

Viktors mouth twisted unpleasantly. “I bought a cake.”

 

“A whole cake?”

 

“I couldn’t just get a slice.” Viktor pouted. Yuuri laughed.

 

“Viktor, we can’t eat an entire cake! I can’t even hold a spoon!”

 

Viktor cocked his head to the side, still pouting. “I could feed you.” He said out of the side of his mouth. Yuuri’s mouth snapped shut, his cheeks pink.

 

“I want to see you doing it.”

Viktor made an evocative noise.

 

“No. I mean… are those my glasses?”

 

Victor pursed his lips, before he snatched up the case and snapped it open.

 

“Oh. They’re perfect.” Yuuri breathed as he slipped them on. Viktor’s heart skipped a beat-- the way Yuuri said the words, staring directly at him. It did things to him. Yuuri didn’t stop, either. He stared, his eyes moving over him, drinking in the details. Like he was double checking that he was real… that this was real.

 

“Make a wish.” Viktor held out the candle app on his phone-- he had reached for a pack of candles, before realizing just how bad of an idea it was to bring open flame into a hospital. Luckily, there was an app for everything. Yuuri laughed-- music to Viktors ears-- and humored him, blowing on the phone screen.

 

“What did you wish for?” Viktor leaned in close, doing his best Makkachin puppy-eye impression.

 

“That’s not how it works, Viktor.” Yuuri flushed. “At least, not in Japan. Or America.”

 

“What if I told you if that was how it was in Russia?” Viktor sang as he pulled the tape off of the paper box that carried Yuuri’s birthday cake. He had gone with chocolate frosting and white cake with blue frosting roses. Yuuri deserved better, but bakeries sold out early, and Viktor had had no idea what flavor he actually liked. He had convinced himself that it would be better to compromise and surprise him.

 

“Then… I’d say...that I wished that this wasn’t a dream too.”

 

Viktor froze mid-movement.

“It isn’t a very good dream.” He said slowly. A wheelchair was parked in the corner of the room. Yuuri had been exhausted by whatever therapy they put him through.  The accident had done a number on him-- he had lost weight and muscle in the last three weeks… and Yuuri wanted this to be real?

“Well… “Yuuri hesitated. Viktor cut a slice from the cake with a plastic butter knife. He had forgotten plates or any utensils beyond a single packet meant for the smaller bakery treats.

“The hospital part sucks… but you’re here.”

 

“Yuuri!” Viktor cried, dropping the knife on top of the cake and flopping on top of the bed. He hugged Yuuri tight-- the man stiffening under him momentarily before he softened. He felt Yuuri’s breath tickle his ear. “Aa- I’m sorry-- it just feels familiar…” Viktor couldn’t piece words together.

 

“It’s…. Okay. I like it.” Yuuri stuttered, nervous. “It’s familiar to me too.” Yuuri had had the same dreams. It was easy to forget. “I just…. I can’t believe you know about it. The dreams.”

 

“It was the best part of my life.” Viktor said the words before he realized how honest he was. Yuuri looked stricken. He reached out, tucking a lock of hair behind Viktor’s ears.

 

“I have a new wish.” He murmured.

 

“Okay.” Viktor nodded, wishing Yuuri’s fingers would brush his skin again.

 

“Can we...pretend that it really happened?”

“It did.” Viktor said frankly. “It happened between us. But we can’t act like I’ve lived with your family, or I’ve been to Hasetsu. I didn’t even know they were real.”

 

Yuuri’s face fell. His eyes dropped downwards and his head rolled to the side, away from Viktor.

 

“I don’t need to pretend… that I love you already.” Viktor swallowed nervously. It hurt to see this. “The dreams were real… and I’d like to go on. We just need... A modified story.  I’ll be honest... I don’t have one. But I’ve been here long enough that we need a really good one.”

 

“My parents are going to ask. Mari is going to want to know. Yuuko will kill me.” Yuuri pulled a hand through his hair, dodging the bandages.

 

“For…?”

 

“Not telling them. If I say I knew you, and I didn’t tell her… she’d hang me from the roof of the castle.”

 

Viktor smiled.”That’s right. You’re my biggest fan.”

Yuuri didn’t deny it.

 

“Well. Then… you didn’t know.” Viktor sat up, taking his weight off of Yuuri. “We talked online...about me. I wanted to hear from the fans, to get my inspiration back. We had a connection. We’ve been talking for a year, but I didn’t tell you the truth.”

 

“You sound like a jerk.”

 

“But I see the news. And I came.. And I told you. We’re meant to be.” Viktor continued in earnest. “I don’t want to lose this either. It’s different… but it’s real.” He turned back to the cake, scooping up a forkful and lifting it up to Yuuri’s lips. “Here.”

 

Yuuri made a face.  “Sweet.” He mumbled, chewing it slowly.

 

“You don’t want it?” Viktor wasn’t offended. He never had grown a taste for cake himself.

 

“I want… the reward you promised me.” Yuuri did his best to summon the courage he had shown earlier, his eyes dark and sparkling.

 

Viktor’s heart lifted. He dropped the fork onto the cake before climbing onto the bed, straddling Yuuri. He plucked Yuuri’s glasses from his face, slowly sliding them off and folding the arms down with care. Before he could complain about the loss of his perfect vision, Viktor pressed his lips against Yuuri’s. He slid a hand under the sleep shirt the nurse had helped Yuuri change into, pressing his hand against Yuuri’s stomach. He shivered, wrapping his arms around Viktor’s waist. Viktor ran his tongue against Yuuri’s bottoms lip, and his mouth parted with a gasp. Viktor slipped his hands up further, running his hands up and down Yuuri’s body. He kept his touch light-- remembering the broken bones and burns that marred Yuuri but made him no less beautiful. Yuuri’s tongue pressed back against his. Viktor kissed back hungrily, wanting more of the taste of Yuuri and the feel of his against his mouth. They explored how they fit together, his hands exploring Yuuri’s body. Yuuri clung to him, his hands moving from his back up into his hair. Viktor moaned into Yuuri’s mouth before it went still. Viktor paused, before drawing back. Yuuri’s lips were puffy and as flushed as his cheeks before he hid them with his hands.

 

“Too much?” Viktor sat back, waiting until Yuuri shook his head.

“I… I just remembered… the nurse..” Even the tips of his ears were flushed pink, and Viktor resisted the urge to nibble on them. “And I panicked… I’m sorry.”

 

“Oh Yuuri…” Viktor cooed, kissing the tip of his nose. “You don’t need to say sorry. I want you to be happy… and comfortable.”

 

“I will be, when we leave…” Viktor’s heart swelled. ‘ _ We  _ leave’

 

It could be days, or weeks. Viktor had no idea. That morning, they were planning on sending him to a clinic for end-of-life services. After lunch, they were doing therapy-- for what, Viktor didn’t know.

 

He didn’t know a lot of things.

He decided to remedy that as soon as Yuuri was comfortable. It was easy to lull him back to sleep, laying next to him in the cramped bed. He ran his fingers through  Yuuri’s dark hair, enjoying the weight of his body lolling against him. He waited until Yuuri’s breath evened out, and he slowly and carefully crawled out of bed. He was on his feet had pulled down and smoothed out his clothing when Natasha came in to check Yuuri’s vitals.

 

“I...I have a lot of questions.” Viktor didn’t know how to start the conversation. He was just thankful that Yuuri could sleep through everything, including being manhandled.

 

“I’ll try to answer what I can, honey,” Natasha replied. They slipped back into Russian, as if they both knew that this was a conversation that it was best Yuuri couldn’t have a part in.

 

“What therapy was he doing?”

 

“Mainly testing and seeing what he can do. I think the PT had him start leg exercises to build strength.”

 

“So… he can walk?”

 

“Not yet. But it’s possible. Paralysis doesn’t happen in a straight line in the body. The fact that he still has sensation is good news.”

 

Viktor folded his arms. “He said he can’t eat.”

 

“He lost dexterity in his hands, but with some work we can retrain the brain to work in different ways.”

 

“How long is he going to be here? If he can’t do anything?”

 

“Each patient is different--”

 

“Tell me, please.” Viktor cut in. “Do I need to get his passport?”

 

“He came here with nothing, Mr. Nikiforov. So I guess so.”

 

“So you’re just going to shove him out now that he’s alive? I’ll cover the insurance payments.” Viktor started to panic.

 

“Of course not. We have to wean him off the tracheostomy, and then train him on how to move around with assistive technology. Make sure he can use the bathroom. He may need a caretaker at first, but we will try to get him as independent of medical assistance as possible before we discharge them.”

“Caretaker?” Viktor echoed.

 

“It’s not my field, so I’m no expert. But physical therapy can take months. It’s a miracle Yuuri is alive. It will take a while for him to get back to where he was before the accident, if he does at all.” Natasha stepped forward, placing a hand on Viktor’s shoulder. “I know you love him. I can tell. The best thing you can do is to be there for him. It’s hard to watch, but it’s harder for him to go through.”

 

Viktor left for the hotel that night. He didn’t want to leave Yuuri-- especially since he was awake-- but he decided it was better to show him the side of Viktor that held it together. For that, he needed time.

 

A little too much time.  Instead of going right to the hospital, he went shopping. He bought a new scarf for himself… and a new wardrobe for Yuuri. He picked a new winter coat, his best guess at a pair of jeans. He found himself pulled to soft and chunky sweaters he could never pull off himself. Yuuri looked good in every color-- ivory didn’t wash him out, navy blue would set off his eyes.  Halfway through the trip, he came to his senses and asked Mari to peek in Yuuri’s closet at home. With some google translate and conversion, Viktor picked out some shoes that Yuuri could put on by himself and still protect him from the impending Russian winter. Viktor arrived to the hospital more a mountain of bags than a man. He dropped them unceremoniously to the floor, turning to Yuuri with a grandiose gesture… only to find him dozing.

 

“Sleepy?” He brushed a cold finger against Yuuri’s face, and his eyes fluttered open. His glasses were still perched on his nose, and he immediately lit up as his eyes focused onto Viktor’s face.

 

“I’m sorry, I’ll let you sleep more.”

 

“No.” Yuuri’s voice sounded smoother. “I was bored. I don’t need to.” Victor felt a pang of regret. It was late afternoon-- he should have come earlier.

 

“I got distracted. I brought some things for you.” Viktor turned back to the bags.

 

“Shouldn’t you be practicing?” Yuuri adjusted his glasses on his face, his words pinning Viktor into place.

 

“Practicing?”

 

“The Grand Prix Final is next week. You should be  getting ready to go to Barcelona.”

 

“Well… Yakov hasn’t said anything.” Viktor laughed uneasily. Yakov hadn’t said anything. He had checked in,  even had the hotel staff check in on his physical health and report back. The letter he had left behind had made a big enough impression on Yakov to make him back off.

“Should he? Shouldn’t you know already?” A note of irritation soured Yuuri’s tone.

 

“I’m taking a break.” Viktor smiled. “It’s fine. There’s always next year.”

 

“No way!” Viktor flinched at how loud and forceful Yuuri’s voice became. “You can’t just quit! I was going to skate on the same ice as you!”

 

“Yuuri, you can’t walk…” Viktor’s voice was as small as he felt.

 

“I know!” Yuuri’s voice came out as a snarl, even as tears dribbled down his cheeks. “I can’t. I can’t skate. So you need to. I need to see you.  If I can’t, at least let me see my idol.”

 

Viktor opened his mouth, but no words came.

 

“If you give up, I’ll never forgive you.” Yuuri’s hands fisted in his blankets, tears streaming down his cheeks and raining down onto the sterile sheets.

 

“I’ll work hard, if you do. I’ll call Yakov, and you work on getting out of here.” Viktor gathered all of his strength to put it into his words. Although he was exhausted even at the thought of it, it was all worth it. Because Yuuri smiled.

 

“Can you be Grand Prix ready in a week?” He teased 

 

“Can you?” Viktor intended it to be just as teasing, but it came out tense. “Do your best. I will too. I’ll be here. I’ll learn how to help you. Then we can go.”

 

“Once I’m out , I can start repaying you.” Viktor followed Yuuri's gaze back down to the pile of shopping bags stacked behind him. 

 

“Oh. I uh, don’t expect that.” Viktors heart clenched with worry. “I honestly enjoyed it — and it’s only enough to carry you over until you get home.” 

 

“I don’t have my suitcase ?” Yuuri blinked , scratching at his head —- and the gauze wrapped around it.

“No… you don’t.” Viktor said slowly, his voice tinged with worry. “Yuuri… do you know how you got here?”

 

♬

 

Yuuri’s eyes narrowed and his nose scrunched. “Well, there was an accident… I almost died?”

 

“Oh, Yuuri…” Viktor pressed a hand to his mouth. “You were the only one to survive.”

 

“What do you mean?” The confusion turned to panic. “I wasn’t the only one involved?”

 

“You were in a plane that crashed right before landing in Sochi. I thought you knew.”

 

Yuuri’s expression darkened. “I didn’t.”

 

Viktor tried to swallow back the emotions that swelled up his throat. Maybe this had been a mistake. There had to be a good reason why the doctors didn’t tell Yuuri the details of the accident…

 

Viktor had been  _ stupid _ .

 

“How many people died?” Yuuri curled into into himself, the happy light gone from his eyes.

 

“I don’t know.” Viktor knew the exact number, but Yuuri didn’t need to know.

 

Yuuri leaned toward Victor-- who sat next to him, stunned-- before moving quickly, snatching the tablet from the bedside table. Victor immediately went after it, trying to pry it from Yuuri’s grasp.

 

“Stop!” Yuuri barked, his voice louder than it should have been.

 

“No! I know what you’re going to do! I know how you go on twitter and read negative press when you’re feeling anxious! It’s not going to help!”

 

“How do you know?!” Yuuri held on tighter-- he was surprisingly dexterous for someone who hadn’t been able to hold a spoon earlier in the day.

 

“You had nothing to do with the crash! Looking at the victims isn’t going to--”

 

“Ciao Ciao!” Yuuri cried, before his voice cracked and dissolved into tears.

 

Viktor let go.

 

“What?” He breathed.

 

“Celestino! My coach!” Yuuri shook, the tablet lying in his lap. “Phichit’s coach… the reason I lived in Detroit…” His voice grew quieter with each word.

 

“What nationality was he?”

 

“Italian-American.” 

 

“There weren’t any Americans or Italians on your flight.” Viktor’s voice was low and quiet… reverent.  “You were the only non-Russian National.”

 

“So I only lived because I was Japanese?” Yuuri scoffed, tears rolling down in cheeks in steady streams.

 

“You lived so I could meet you.”

 

“Stop.” Yuuri choked. “I’m not worth a hundred people’s lives. It’s not romantic. It’s not  _ fair _ .”

 

“No... it’s not.” 

 

Viktor rose to his feet. He paused, before taking the tablet out of Yuuri’s grasp. He didn’t fight this time, his gaze far-off and empty. Viktor tapped at the screen, unlocking it and opening Yuuri’s contacts app. He had the correct number dialed into his phone before Yuuri even blinked. The man on the other end answered with a falsely cheery  _ ciao-- _ and Viktor immediately understood the nickname.

 

“Hello, I’m sorry to bother you… My name is Viktor Nikiforov…”. 

 

“Ah… I asked Phichit not to forward my cell phone number… I can only take condolences at the office.” Celestino’s voice was rough at the edges-- worn down with tears and exhaustion.

 

Viktor fell silent, his mouth in a hard line. He dropped his hand from his ear, tapping the screen so that it was on speakerphone. “Yuuri, talk to him.”

 

Yuuri hiccuped, a quiet sob squeezing his chest. “What?”

 

“Yuuri?” The voice on the other line boomed. “Is that Yuuri?”

 

“...Y-yeah. Phichit didn’t tell you?” Viktor leaned forward, making sure Yuuri’s voice could reach.

 

“Phichit’s been on a forced break ever since the news-- oh Yuuri, it’s a miracle!” Celestino laughed, and Viktor could hear the tears in his voice. “I’ll never let this happen again. Next year I’m staying in Japan with you. No more flying alone! I promise!”

 

Yuuri wilted.

 

“About...that.”

 

“Hmmm?” Celestino was all ears, and so eager and bright. Viktor wondered what made him hold Yuuri back so much , as Viktor had seen in their dreams.

 

“Will I see you at Barcelona ?”

 

“See me? Sarah placed, I will be going with her. You’re going?”  Celestino’s voice rose.

 

“I’m going to cheer on Viktor.”

 

“Ah… yes… Viktor called me. He’s with you?” 

 

So that was the reason why Celestino had held Yuuri back. He sounded as anxiety-prone as Yuuri. Or at least a little clueless.

 

“Mhmm. It’s a long story.” Yuuri looked eons calmer, his eyelids heavy as he cradled the phone to his  ear.

 

“Does Phichit know? Do I need to keep quiet about it?”

 

“Oh, he knows.” Yuuri cracked a small smile, and they both laughed as if they were in on a joke. “No use being quiet about it now.” Celestino laughed. “Great, Yuuri. I’m sorry that I won’t see you on the ice, but I’m glad you’re going to Grand Prix in the some way.”

 

“Thank you, coach.” Yuuri said slowly, the two finishing their goodbyes and hanging up. Yuuri set Viktor’s phone on top of the blankets on his lap. He took a deep, shaky breath before pressing his fingers into his eyes, rubbing at them.

 

“Yuuri?” Viktor didn’t make a motion to take the phone. He sat down where he had spent his bedside vigil, scooting back to give Yuuri space.

 

“I’m so tired.” Yuuri’s voice was weak, the brave front he had put on over the phone slipping away.

 

“It’s getting late.” Viktor stood up, turning to grab his coat.

 

“Wait.” Yuuri’s voice was hoarse after a long day of tears. Viktor turned back, the wool fabric slipping from his fingers.

 

“Stay. Please. Just until I fall asleep. Then go and sleep in your hotel.”

 

“Hm?

 

“You look tired. You need your rest to win gold, right?” Yuuri forced a smile. Viktor didn’t have to be asked twice. He crawled into the bed next to Yuuri, snug against his side. They lay together in silence, before Viktor slid Yuuri’s glasses off and folded the frames closed.

 

“Shall I tell you a story?” Viktor felt his whole body relax and warm with Yuuri’s weight pressing into him. Yuuri tucked his head against Viktor’s shoulder, his lashes soft and dark on tear stained cheeks.

 

“That depends on whether you’re a good storyteller or not,” Yuuri replied, his eyes still closed.

 

“Challenge accepted,” Viktor smiled. “Once upon a time, there was a young prince. He was rich, but he was lonely. He was well-loved by his people, but they were all too scared to come close.”

 

“I need a happy ending, Viktor.” Yuuri sighed.

 

“Oh, it is very happy indeed. One day, the prince went out on a walk. He went to the lake, which was frozen at the time. Upon it he saw the most beautiful thing on earth. He danced like magic-- his body made music just by moving.”

 

“And then he got drunk and asked the prince  to be his coach,” Yuuri mumbled, before a wide smile graced his lips. 

 

“Don’t spoil the story,” Viktor huffed.

 

“Is the prince happy at the end?” Yuuri was drowsy, and melted against Viktor.

 

“The happiest on the Earth.  And Space. Maybe beyond that too.” Viktor reached his arm around Yuuri, cradling him closer and brushing his fingers through his hair. Viktor waited for another question-- the story was rather short-- but Yuuri had dozed off instead. Viktor stayed, treasuring the moment. He wished he could bottle the feeling and store it away forever. Whenever he was down, he could take a sip of it, and feel the trust and love that flowed so easily from Yuuri.

 

But now Yuuri was here, in the flesh. He wasn’t a finite dream- he was real, here and alive. Viktor remembered the only way he could truly immortalize a moment, and took his phone from Yuuri’s lap. He opened the camera, tilting his head until they were both in the frame.

He captured the moment, his eyes downcast. They both looked asleep, but Viktor really was admiring Yuuri, tucked into his side and sleeping angelically. His cheek was smushed, and he was drooling a little, sure… but he looked alive. Alive and present-- even if he was on his way to dreamland.

 

_ His favorite Yuuri. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fic-related notes~
> 
> 3 weeks is about the limit of being in a coma and regaining consciousness. (Yuuri is very lucky.) 
> 
> Yuuri has some memory issues and amnesia surrounding the accident due to this. My dad was in a 1 week induced coma and does not remember the three months surrounding it that much (this is partially due to medicine effects). [My dad is alive and well after trying to die for like, 6 months]
> 
> Yuuri has a tracheostomy (a breathing tube in his neck) because a) its been 3 weeks and b) it allows him to talk right away. Because romance.


	9. Pour me a heavy dose of atmosphere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pour me a heavy dose of atmosphere -- Vanilla Twilight, Owl City
> 
> Viktor and Yuuri work toward The Grand Prix Final 2015 in Barcelona (the year after the Canon) Barcelona GPF)
> 
> Viktor learns more about Yuuri and his mental health.  
> Flying is harder than they both realize.
> 
> A reunion with Phichit is harder than expected.
> 
> A talk in a hotel room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: panic attacks, disordered eating

Viktor stayed for another hour, unable to peel himself from Yuuri’s side. He scrolled through instagram, catching up on fellow skaters’ antics. He uploaded the snapshot of the piroshky he had bought for the pair of them, flipping between the three angles and filter options before idly deciding on one. By the time he tapped upload, his mind was gone, restless. Yuuri would never forgive him if he woke up and saw him asleep on the couch. He slowly extricate himself from the bed, tiptoeing to put his coat on and retire to his hotel room.

 

Viktor woke up early the next day, eager to spend it with Yuuri. His shopping bags  abandoned and ignored on the floor. They could go through them, after a breakfast of hot coffee and sweet piroshky Viktor had stopped to get on the way to the hospital.

 

The hospital, where he did not expect a crowd of journalists to be sitting, staring hawk-eyed at each person who walked toward the door.

 

Viktor paused, hanging back to pull up Twitter. Something must had happened-- and if it was  related to the hospital, it was Viktor’s duty to find a safer hospital at once.

 

Twitter was quiet. Instagram, however, was not. He had over a 2,000 notifications-- far more than usual for his breakfast postings. Even when Christophe commented an innuendo, he usually only managed 300 likes per post. He still did it though-- if only to portray an image of having a social life. 

 

Viktor opened the screen, his heart jumping at the long list of curly Japanese symbols and emojis. He couldn’t read most of it-- until he saw the tags.

 

#yuuri katsuki

 

#he lives!!!

 

#victuuri

 

#hottestcoupleof2015

 

# I’d crash a plane for that

 

#DYING

 

Viktor bit his bottom lip, tapping the post the thousands of comments were linked to.

 

Oh.

 

Oh no.

 

Instead of a delicious, flaky pastry, captioned with ‘ _ vkusno! _ … there was the picture he took of them in bed together. The caption remained unchanged, which made it a thousand times worse.

 

They were here for him. And Yuuri.

 

Viktor slipped his hood on, searching his pockets for his Gucci sunglasses. He tucked the bag of pastries underneath his arm, and slouched, holding the coffee carrier in front of him. He speed-walked to the front of the hospital, only to stop dead in his tracks.

 

“Viktor!” Yuuri called from just inside the doors. He was in an outfit picked from the shopping bags-- jeans and a cable knit sweater-- and sitting in a wheelchair.  “They said I can go outside!”

 

His smile was so bright it was disarming. Viktor pulled the hood off his head and slid the glasses down his nose. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” It hurt to see the smile drop from his face, however momentary it was. Cameras clicked and flashed, and the nurse standing behind Yuuri looked bitter and annoyed.

 

“What happened?” Yuuri seemed stunned-- his eyes remained trained on Viktor, ignoring the media mob entirely.  “Did Phichit say something?”

 

“No…. I did.” Viktor sighed. Yuuri’s brow furrowed-- more confusion than betrayal. “I didn’t mean to. I was up late, and I uploaded the wrong photo…”

 

“What  _ kind _ of photo?” Yuuri’s expression hardened and he looked defensive.

 

“I took one of the two of us after you fell asleep. I-- I never intended to share it with anyone, I swear!” Of course Yuuri would be mad. He didn’t know that Viktor  _ had _ a photo-- or how many he had, gained from Mari.

 

“I don’t want to say anything.” Yuuri wilted. He tried to turn the wheelchair, but his fingers didn’t obey. The nurse turned, pushing him back down the hallway  and into the elevator. Viktor scrambled after them, ducking into the elevator just before the doors closed.

 

“I’m sorry.” Viktor burst out. “I didn’t know-- I didn’t try. It was an accident, I swear.” The words bubbled up, his insides boiling with worry.

 

“It’s okay.” Yuuri said in a way that made it obvious that it wasn’t.  Yuuri had clearly started fantasizing about the smell of fresh outdoor air the minute they told him that he would be going for a walk an hour before.  Now it probably felt like a chore too big to bear, and he was trapped in his strange-smelling prison again.

 

“I brought you coffee. Half cream and three sugars.” Viktor thrust the carrier forward. Yuuri  blinked, looking up at Viktor curiously.

 

“I remembered.” Viktor breathed.  _ From a dream _ .

 

“Thank you.” Yuuri murmured. He didn’t take the cup. His hair was softer and smoother, and Viktor could smell soap. He had probably had his first proper shower in weeks. Yuuri had been looking forward to going outside-- being normal-- and Viktor’s social media habits had ruined it.

 

“I’m not mad, Viktor.” Yuuri said when they reached his room. “I just… I’m not ready.”

 

“I didn’t need you to be.” Viktor said earnestly. He no longer felt hungry.  Yuuri’s feeding tube was still taped to his cheek, winding through his nose and down his throat. 

 

It was their first time together in the room where Yuuri wasn’t on the bed. His feet were bare in his slippers, and the jeans were rolled up to show his ankles. He had no idea how cold Russia was in the winter. He had been here nearly a month, and had yet to enjoy it.

 

“I want to show you Saint Petersburg.” Viktor crushed the paper bag of breakfast food in his hands. “You can meet Makkachin. I’ll show you where I went to school.”

 

“We have five days until Barcelona, Viktor.” Yuuri was stubborn, even when surprised. “I… I need all these things to live now. You have to practice. We can’t just run off somewhere.”

 

Viktor set down the food, ruffling through the shopping bags containing Yuuri’s new wardrobe. He pulled out a pair of socks, ripping out the stitches holding the packaging to them.

 

“Viktor--” Yuuri sounded nervous, but Viktor didn’t know what to say. He knelt, taking off Yuuri’s slippers and rolling on the cashmere knit socks onto his feet.

 

“V-- _ Vitya.”  _ Yuuri stuttered, his fingers threading through silver hair. Viktor melted at the tenderness of the touch, resting his cheek against Yuuri’s thigh. He half expected Yuuri to reel back, but he didn’t. He smoothed Viktor’s hair back, before combing his fingers through it again, pulling it away from his face. Tears stung at Viktor’s eyes-- it was almost too much to bear. This was so far beyond sharing the same hospital bed--it was different than hungry kisses and fevered touches.

 

“Will you listen to me now?” Yuuri’s voice was soft, his fingers brushing Viktor’s cheek. Viktor could only hum and acknowledgement, words too far away while he drowned in an emotional flood.

 

“I’m not ready to talk to the media. I hate it. If I could skate without ever talking to them, I’d do it.”

 

Viktor closed his eyes.

 

“I’m not mad at you. I promise. It’s kind of … exciting.”

 

“Exciting?” Viktor opened his eyes, resisting the urge to lift his eyes to Yuuri’s.

 

“I’ve been dreaming about you for years… and  _ really  d _ reaming about you for the past year. Now everyone thinks you’re mine.  I don’t mind it… at all.” Yuuri whispered, his hand slowing until he cupped both sides of Viktor’s face. “Please stop worrying.”

 

“I wasn’t--” Viktor let the words die in his throat, staring up at Yuuri. His skin was flushed deliciously pink. Viktor wanted to kiss  _ everything _ \-- the tip of his nose, his soft cheeks. Yuuri’s lips trembled, and he bit at them before meeting Viktor halfway. His hands fisted in Viktor’s hair, tugging at the nape of his neck. A fleeting thought made Viktor wish he had never chopped his hair off- that it was long enough for Yuuri to pull at properly.  He regretted each snip of the scissors in the past year as Yuuri pushed into him, his lips hungrily searching for more.

 

“Ah--” Yuuri panted. He pulled back, and Viktor found himself trying to close the gap between them.

 

“You really need a signal, love.” Natasha chastised, pulling on a fresh set of gloves.

 

Yuuri froze, the flush on his cheeks deepening into embarrassment.

 

“Oh no, honey, stay where you are. I’ll teach you how to work his feeding pump,” Natasha said with a smile to Viktor.

 

“His what?” Viktor breathed. His heart still hadn’t slowed, still pumping endorphins through his blood and making him feel buoyant.

 

“His feeding pump.” Natasha repeated, Yuuri sheepishly tapping at the tube that ran down his nose. Natasha unclipped one of the noisy machines from the back of Yuuri’s wheelchair. It clicked and whirred constantly-- and had been one of the noises Viktor had tuned out.

 

“Yuuri knows how to do it himself, but since he lost some dexterity, it’s easier if he gets some help. Now, honey, have you eaten anything by mouth since last time I checked in?”

 

“Um… no.” Yuuri bowed his head, Viktor watching keenly as the nurse turned dials and prepared a syringe. She clucked her tongue, and Viktor glanced at the bag of abandoned  breakfast with a spark of shame igniting in his stomach.

 

“I… I brought some for him.” Viktor added, in between hushed explanations in Russian on how to properly flush the line.

 

“Good. He won’t gain any weight back at all, going on like this,” Natasha tutted, pulling the seal off a bottle of the white formula Viktor had seen, but never paid attention to.  “He should stay on a continuous feed until he can maintain a 3,000 calorie diet.”

 

Yuuri shrunk in his chair, feeling invisible as Viktor and Natasha talked just over his head.

 

“I know you two want to leave soon. But that depends on how far you can get with home care,” Natasha replaced the pump on the back of Yuuri’s wheelchair, placing her hands on her hips. “You can’t expect to get to 100% in a week after barely surviving an accident like that. Be grateful for the miracles you have, alright? You’re doing great.”

 

The sweet softness ot Yuuri’s expression was gone, replaced by silent bitterness as Natasha finished her round. Viktor delighted at the news that Yuuri’s PICC line could be removed soon-- another tie to the hospital cut-- but the joy didn’t reach Yuuri.

 

Viktor floated for the rest of the week. Yakov took his request to train in a Sochi rink without question...Well, Yakov questioned if Viktor felt obligated to skate.  They spent ten minutes on the phone, Yakov reassuring Viktor that he could manage to miss the Grand Prix Final and still participate in Russian Nationals. Viktor fought it--he would do it, and do it with Yuuri.  

 

Viktor spent his time away from Yuuri at a local rink, refreshing himself on a routine he hadn’t thought about for weeks. He was more excited about Yuuri’s accomplishments-- the eating of a full meal with a therapy-modified spoon, the removal of the PICC line that meant the end of constant IV medication. His head healed enough for the bandages and stitches to be replaced by a simple plaster. 

 

The most time Viktor spent at the hotel was the night before the flight--he sat in the laundry room, washing Yuuri’s spare outfits and his own neglected clothing of the hospital smell he’d grown accustomed to.

 

Five days later, and it was time to go.

“I’ll miss you, sweetheart.” Natasha looked near-tears when she came into the room, carrying the doctor’s approval for discharge. She hadn’t imagined that the bruised and broken body that had arrived sleeping would be able to leave...at all. She had held out hope, but after three weeks, she had decided to be realistic. Even though now, it didn’t seem to apply to her patient and the man that reminded her so fondly of her brother. Yuuri looked great, dressed in a jewel-blue button-down and dark wool slacks. Viktor had prepared a thick jacket and hat, as well as snow boots even though Yuuri’s feet would never touch the slush outside.

 

“It was nice… knowing you.” Yuuri flushed, offering a sweet smile. She saw them to the door, waving as a taxi rolled up to take them away to the airport.

 

It wasn’t as idyllic for Viktor.

 

It started the moment the taxi rolled up. The driver stared at Viktor, before they shot back and forth-- there was no way a chair would fit, the luggage would take all the room-- Viktor had ordered the wrong car. Viktor was glad that Yuuri couldn’t understand the few uncouth words he spat out before sweeping Yuuri up out of his chair.

 

“Wao-- Viktor, wait!” Yuuri grabbed at the tubing leading to his feeding pump, still attached to the chair. “I can get in myse--” His mood quickly turned sour as the driver tossed in the machine after Yuuri, Viktor arranging him like a doll.

 

“If you just used English--” Yuuri bit out, anger rising in this throat, but the conversation continued in bitter sounding Russian. 

 

Viktor didn’t even hear him, loudly throwing luggage into the trunk and kicking at the wheelchair until it folded. They both stewed for the entire ride to the airport. Yuuri couldn’t stop fidgeting in the line for security-- he flipped the pages of his brand-new passport, freshly reissued from the embassy. It was missing the stamps from his exit from the states and his visa to visit Phichit the summer before. It didn’t feel like his--which was probably floating at the bottom of the Black Sea. He felt strangely powerless-- pushed through another line for special screening. He had technically stayed in Russia for over a month, and yet hadn’t seen much beyond the hospital garden and the streets flashing by from the taxi.

 

Viktor bought them an overpriced ice cream from a kiosk, too excited over a plastic-wrapped cone.

 

“Yuuri!”

 

Yuuri blinked, turning his head to look at Viktor. He looked too concerned to be holding a half-eaten ice cream cone, surrounded by the constant buzz and movement of the terminal.

 

“Huh?”

 

“It’s your turn.” Viktor sounded wounded, holding out the treat for Yuuri to take a bite.

 

He had asked four times.

 

Viktor was doing his best. He had made sure they went through the expedited line, and were flying first class. He even had called during the drive over to make sure the airline knew about the wheelchair. He didn’t crouch when talking to Yuuri, and he stared down every traveler that gave them a wide berth.

 

“Oh. Sorry.” Yuuri took the ice cream, running his tongue around the cone to catch the melting drips before they fell.

 

“Are you mad? I’m sorry. I should’ve checked about the taxi from the hospital. I should’ve translated for you, but I was so mad--”

 

“It’s okay.” Yuuri said calmly, his eyes downcast as he folded down the foil wrapper.

 

“Yuuri. Are you sure?”

 

His tone must have been too hurt, because Yuuri startled, flinching, his eyes snapping up to Viktor’s.

 

“I’m sure. Positive. I’m not even thinking about it.” Yuuri smiled, although it looked a little forced.

 

“Then… what are you thinking about?” Viktor’s brow furrowed. The wrapper rustled between Yuuri’s fingers as he played with it.

 

“Barcelona.” Yuuri smiled, and Viktor melted. Yuuri… was so sweet and perfect.. The man of his dreams (in a way, quite literally).   “I’m worried about you, I guess.”

 

Viktor’s heart dropped. “Why? I’m not worried at all.” Viktor hadn’t spent much time thinking about the competition. He was more focused on getting there, and what he would do with Yuuri…

 

“I took up so much of your time…”

 

“Oh Yuuri, if I don’t perform at my best, it’s because I’ve had the time of my life. I don’t regret it at all.” Viktor took Yuuri’s hand, squeezing it. 

 

Yuuri’s face crumpled with uncertainty.  “You sat in a hospital room for weeks…” His voice was small.

 

“And now I have you.” Viktor smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to Yuuri’s cheek. “It was worth it.”

Yuuri didn’t look like he believed it. But he still melted into Viktor’s touch, even if his eyes wouldn’t meet Viktor’s.

 

The ice cream went into the trash half-finished. They were set to be the first to board--thanks to the first-class upgrade… and the ‘extra’ assistance Yuuri needed.

 

“Stop.” Yuuri bit out, Viktor’s arms winding under his arms, poised to lift him from the hospital-provided wheelchair to the much smaller one that fit in the airplane. Viktor froze, but didn’t remove his arms.

 

“I can do it.” Yuuri said to the floor, slipping out of Viktor’s grasp as the Russian’s cheeks burned. It wasn’t graceful by any means, but Yuuri did it. Viktor bit his tongue-- Yuuri was an adult. Yuuri didn’t like being touched… he’d spent months dreaming and feeling the ache of being so close, but so far away. He was lucky to be so handsy with Yuuri, when they had only physically met a few days before. Praising him for doing it would be treating Yuuri like a child. It was great that Yuuri could do it, wasn’t it? Even if last week he was in a coma, destined for end-of-life care. Yuuri was a miracle, and his own person… and Viktor shouldn’t feel hurt.

Shouldn’t. But he did anyway. He kept a step back, keeping his distance as Yuuri took the window seat.

 

Viktor preferred the window-- but he knew, somehow, in the back of his mind, that the window meant a wall for Yuuri to sleep on, and that Yuuri liked to sleep on planes.

 

Even if that wasn’t going to happen today.

 

“Here, it will get chilly once we’re in the air--” Viktor ripped the plastic off of the complimentary blanket, handing it to Yuuri, whose eyes were on the flight attendants reciting the safety instructions.

 

“Yuuri?” Viktor froze. “Are you cold already?” 

 

He was shaking.  Not shivering, shaking, his eyes unfocused even as they took in the bright yellow prop oxygen tanks in the attendant’s hands.

 

“Yuuri? Yuuri.” Viktor touched his arm,  but the only response he returned was the spill of tears over Yuuri’s cheeks. “Oh. Oh no.” He slid forward, wrapping Yuuri in his arms the best he could, awkwardly twisting in his seat.

 

“Sir… is everything okay?” The nearest attendant stopped, touching Viktor’s shoulder as he and Yuuri swayed together as they taxied to their runway.

 

“No… I mean yes… I mean... Yuuri…?” Viktor stuttered. “Are you okay? Do you want to get off?”

 

“No,” Yuuri wailed, his voice muffled by Viktor’s shoulder.

 

“Are you sure?” Viktor’s face crumpled with worry. Yuuri’s breathing sounded wheezy, and he could feel Yuuri’s heart beat a mile a minute through his back. The flight attendant looked worried, her hand hovering over her walkie-talkie microphone.

 

“I--...I...we...have to….get to… Barcelona.” Yuuri hiccuped. Viktor found himself rubbing Yuuri’s back, his hips aching from his twisted position.

 

“We don’t, if it’s going to cause you pain…” Viktor murmured. The flight attendant waited expectantly.

 

“I didn’t think… I don’t remember.”

 

“Shhh,” Viktor soothed,  moving to play with Yuuri’s hair. “It’s okay. It makes sense, even if you don’t remember. If you want to stop, we need to decide now.” Viktor said, looking the attendant in the eyes.

 

“We can’t… I can’t be scared to… I live in Japan… we’re in Russia… that’d be stupid.” Yuuri hiccuped again, fighting for air.

 

“So we’re not getting off?” He was saying it more for the attendant than for Yuuri. He could tell she spoke English, even if she had communicated solely in Russian.

 

“No. Just… don’t stop, okay?” Yuuri pressed into him, his fingers tightening their grip on his sweater.

 

“I’ll be here for the whole flight.  I promise.” The flight attendant left, walking quickly to her jump seat.

 

Yuuri felt too tense, every muscle tightening when the engine kicked into high gear. His breathing choked when they lifted into the air, and each bounce of turbulence sent a spike of panic through Viktor’s stomach. The second the seatbelt light went off, Viktor unbuckled Yuuri and pulled him into his lap. He pressed kisses into his cheek and his hair, massaged the small of his back, trying to get him to relax.

 

“What do you want to eat?” Viktor murmured. He reached around Yuuri, searching his pockets for the earbuds he swore he had shoved in a pocket earlier that morning.

 

“I feel like I’m going to throw up.” Yuuri tensed as the slight jolt of turbulence.

 

“Do we need to take out your NG tube?” Viktor shifted, and Yuuri clung to him. It would be hard to make Yuuri get off his lap…  If he could ever manage to ask that.

 

“No. I won’t… Just… not hungry.”

 

Viktor worried. They hadn’t eaten much besides the ice cream at the airport. Viktor didn’t eat much when he was excited, but Yuuri still hadn’t graduated from the liquid supplement diet.

 

“Water?” Viktor offered. Yuuri didn’t say no, so he took it as his duty, making sure Yuuri took little sips from the complementary bottle of Fiji water.

 

The worst part was knowing that Yuuri would have to go through it again. They landed in Moscow a short two and a half hours later with a layover long enough to find the next gate. Barcelona was still another five hours away, and Viktor was already exhausted. He leaned heavily on the handles of Yuuri’s wheelchair, debating on whether alcohol would make the next leg more bearable, or even worse.

 

“Vitya?” Yuuri’s voice was soft. He looked wilted, pale and tired from what his body had put him through.

 

“Hmmm?” Viktor did his best to perk up, twisting to look into Yuuri’s eyes.  

 

“Is there… can we get something? At the store? I just… I want to sleep…”

 

Viktor pushed Yuuri in nearly a sprint to the nearest generic newsstand. He bought three boxes of over-priced benadryl and three bottles of ‘sleep water’, which looked identical to the little five hour energy drink bottles he saw all over America.  Yuuri took the pills as well as the water, nibbling at the packet of cookies saved from the previous flight. Viktor returned to the store a second time, pulling out his credit card and leaving with a pair of noise-canceling headphones and a memory-foam neck pillow. Yuuri was drowsy enough that he didn’t protest when Viktor slid the headphones over his ears and placed the pillow in his lap. Viktor played the more orchestrated pieces of music he had skated to the moment they scanned their tickets and started walking down the air bridge.

 

This time, Yuuri slept, his fingers tightly knit with Viktor’s.

  
  


“You’re late.” Yakov said at baggage claim, as if Viktor could help it. Yuuri was still dozing, even though they had jostled him back to his own wheelchair and gone through customs before emerging into the common area of El Prat airport.

 

“I went as the wind took me, Yakov,” Viktor yawned, too tired to put any resistance against the rough hug Yakov pulled him into. The old man hit his back with a hearty thump, beating any sleepiness left out of Viktor.

 

“No more of that. You’re on the ice in two days, and I expect to see you at top condition before I let you in the public eye.”

 

“Yeah, coach… I’ll look more excited when I haven’t been traveling for a day.” Viktor murmured, searching for his suitcase. His and Yuuri’s matched, since he had to buy a new set to save from returning home.

 

“You have a lot of work and explaining to do.” Yakov said gruffly, his gaze flickering down to Yuuri. He hoped Yuuri wouldn’t wake up… he was drooling a little as he slept, and if he realized this now… Yuuri had been embarrassed enough for the day, and needed the rest.

 

“I love him, Yakov.” Viktor rubbed the sleep from his eyes. There was no point in putting it off.

 

“Oh, that much is obvious. Mila showed me you and your instant gramma. You kids put everything on the internet these days.”

Viktor felt relaxed for the first time in hours… no matter how much grief he gave Yakov, or how loveless his past life felt…  It was nice to fall back into the old patterns and comfort of what he knew well.

 

Yuuri’s peace didn’t last long-- he awoke with the jolt of being pushed over the threshold of an elevator. He called for Viktor sleepily, and Viktor could see Yakov’s expression soften-- just a bit.

 

“We’re almost to the hired car lot, Yuuri.” Viktor said sweetly. 

 

“Oh God. Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?” He sat up straight, fruitlessly trying to smooth his hair down.

 

“You didn’t miss much.” Yakov said in English, Yuuri’s cheeks began to burn pink. “I know you already, like all of Vitya’s other competitors.”

 

“...oh.” Yuuri squeaked. “N-nice to meet you…” the blush turned him red up to the tips of his ears and he bowed his head. 

 

Viktor worried his bottom lip. Yakov was like a father to him- a loud , angry father… but a father nonetheless. He was completely comfortable around him… and he hadn’t thought about the fact that the same wouldn’t hold true for Yuuri. 

 

“We will go to the rink first and get you checked in. Yuuri is still registered as a skater, and it was too much trouble to re-categorize him. He’ll be allowed in the kiss and cry regardless.” Yakov fell back into Russian, pulling one of their suitcases from Viktor’s grasp as they entered the garage. 

 

The car ride lulled Yuuri back to sleep, his cheek resting against Viktors shoulder. Viktor could feel his sleeve dampen with drool, but he didn’t mind. There was nothing better than feeling Yuuri's weight press against him, feeling uneven breaths push in and out of his lungs without a machine to move them. 

 

The peace did not last for long. 

 

Viktor trusted Yakov enough to know that he would not tip off the press.  He hadn’t posted to social media for hours —- he had been too busy dealing with Yuuri and keeping him calm on the long plane ride over. 

 

So dread settled in the pit of his stomach as he realized that they were the prey, and the media had been waiting to hunt them down. 

 

He had been stupid. He may have been able to fend them off at the hospital— but everyone knew he was competing at the Grand Prix. Everyone knew Yuuri would be with Viktor.  It was obvious, and Viktor had waltzed in without a plan. 

 

“ Mr. Katsuki, what is your relationship with Viktor Nikiforov ?”

 

“ Mr. Katsuki, how do you feel as the sole survivor of flight 783?”

 

“Mr. Katsuki, what are your intentions on attending the Grand Prix Final? Has the ISU seeded you through?”

 

“Mr. Katsuki, what is your next step in your skating career?”

 

Yuuri looked like a deer in the headlights. His fingers pinched the lanyard around his neck and he folded his credential card in half. 

 

“Yuuri is a very important person to me.”

 

Viktor felt his heart leap out of his throat along with the words. They ran away from him, his shoulders squaring as he stepped in front of Yuuri. 

 

“Yuuri has been invited to attend with me as I compete as he continues to recover from an  _ incredibly traumatic experience.”  _

 

Viktor felt the cool mask he had worn for most of his life slide into place.  He felt like throwing up— but no one would ever know that. “I would be glad to answer any questions about my skate tomorrow. “ He flashed an icy smile, wrapping his hands around the handles on the back of Yuuri’s wheelchair. The crowd parted like the sea for Moses as Viktor pushed Yuuri back to the staging area for the skaters.

 

“Yuuri!” There was another shout and the slap of shoes against concrete. Viktor’s media smile fell into a scowl as a blur of a person slid to Yuuri’s feet.

 

“Phichit?” Yuuri’s voice came out in a squeak as he was pulled into a hug.

 

“Oh my god.” Phichit’s voice was thick with emotion, and Yuuri looked like he was struggling to breathe. “Not again.”

 

“Again?” Viktor felt his heart pump out a sickening pulse of adrenaline. “What do you mean?”

 

Phichit’s fingers were tangled in the part of Yuuri’s NG tube that hung near the pump. Yuuri’s head was bowed. “I didn’t know you were here, Phichit.”

 

“Ciao Ciao told me you were coming with Viktor, and I booked a ticket. I couldn’t wait to see my best friend. You almost died.”  Phichit’s hand curled into a fist. “Why aren’t you eating?”

 

“I’m  _ trying.” _

 

“You said that before, too.” Phichits voice came out ragged and emotional, still. 

 

“What was before?” Viktor felt his knees go weak. Luckily Phichit was also on the floor, and it wasn’t so strange to join him.  Viktor searched Yuuri’s face for an explanation-- but he refused to look at either of them.

 

“Last winter,” Phichits hands shook in his lap. “Yuuri stopped eating.”

 

“It was finals week.” Yuuri’s voices came out barely a whisper.

 

“For three weeks? He collapsed at the rink, and the doctors made him go on a feeding tube for  _ two months.” _ Phichit’s gaze turned to Viktor, and he felt the full weight of it.

 

Viktor should have asked.  He should have  _ known _ . There was no reason for them to keep a tube down Yuuri’s throat beyond hospital walls.

 

“He’s eating. I promise.” Viktor blinked, trying to keep back tears like the onesthat were already falling from Yuuri’s eyes.

 

“Well, not enough.” Phichit’s tone was short, but softened by worry. “Dude, I am going to find the best restaurants in Barcelona, and we are going to eat at ALL of them.”

 

They arrive at the hotel room twenty minutes later, after a too-long hug from Phichit and a new contact on Viktor’s phone.

 

“I’m ordering in,” Viktor meant to sound softer, but it came out more of a command. “What are you going to eat?”

 

“Whatever you want.” Yuuri let Viktor lift him onto the bed, his eyes lowered as Viktor cradled his feet in his hands. 

 

“Paella? Steak?” Viktor tried to hide his distaste by focusing on Yuuri’s shoes. One hand braced  Yuuri’s ankle as he pulled off the slip-on canvas shoes.

 

“Paella is too hard to eat.” Yuuri mumbled. “I’d rather have piroshky.”

 

“I’ll help.” Viktor hummed as Yuuri’s other shoeslipped off.

 

“You can’t.”

 

Viktors eyes flickered up to search Yuuri’s face.

 

It has been an incredibly long day… and it still wasn’t over.

 

“I want to. I want to feed my lover delicious food on our vacation.”  The romance was lost in Viktor’s irritation.

 

“I have to go home eventually.” Yuuri’s voice was shaking again. “I can’t just have you waiting on me hand and foot. You have a life.”

 

“I do. With you.” Yuuri’s breath caught tortuously-- Viktor’s fingers were pressed into the arch of Yuuri’s feet. Or maybe it was the words pouring from Viktor’s lip, free of any pretense and heavy with longing.

 

“I can’t just steal you away. You don’t even have a good excuse. You can’t be my coach. I can’t even skate anymore.”

 

“Being in love isn’t a good excuse?”

 

Yuuri went quiet, his cheeks flushed but his face marred with disbelief.

 

“Barcelona is where you proposed to me.” It was Viktor’s turn to shake now, his hands tightening to find purchase on something,  _ anything _ to ground him.

 

“It wasn’t like that--”

 

“ _ You put a ring on my right hand in front of a church.” _

 

“That never happened!”  Instead of tears, Yuuri’s chest was racked with a sob.   He didn’t notice his foot sliding out of Viktor’s grasp, back to its place hanging off the edge of the bed.

 

“Don’t tell me you want to end this.” Viktor could hear himself. He sounded bitter. Angry.

 

He  _ felt lost and hurt. _

 

Yuuri looked the same. His hands were pressed against his face. He was far away-- Viktor’s feet had carried him to the other side of the room.

 

“I’m not that Yuuri.” Yuuri’s voice came in broken sobs that Viktor could barely understand.  “I can’t eat or walk or skate or buy rings.”

 

“But you’re real. You’re  _ my _ Yuuri.”

 

“I can’t skate with you.” 

 

“That’s not any different than before.”

 

“You can’t leave your life behind to take care of me.”

 

“What  _ life?” _ Viktor snapped, and Yuuri finally looked upward. “ _ You’re _ my life, Yuuri. My life, my love. Ever since you asked me to stay. Ever since you said you were haunting me.”

 

“I what?”

 

“You found me. You were asleep, but you found me. We had tea together, we went to the sea. You walked with Makkachin. You weren’t a dream, and that’s when I fell in love.”

 

There was silence between them, the only sounds in the hotel room was the soft sniffling of Yuuri’s sobs.

 

“You’re crying.”

 

Viktor blinked, touching his face.  “I am.” He sounded just as surprised. Not that he was emotional enough to do so-- but that his body had done it without him noticing.

 

Yuuri reached for him, but fell short a few inches of touching Viktor.

 

“Come closer, please.”

 

Damn it. It would physically hurt to ignore that-- to be stubborn and angry when Yuuri sounded so soft and broken.  Viktor took a step forward before Yuuri’s hands grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and pulled Viktor on top of him.

“I’m sorry.” Yuuri whispered into his hair. Viktor expected Yuuri to kiss each tear away, to drink away the sadness. But instead Yuuri’s arms wrapped around him and held him tightly against his body.

 

“I wish you would believe that you are enough. That I love you.” Viktor’s voice hummed into Yuuri’s shoulder.

 

“It’s not enough.” Yuuri’s voice caught again, his tongue too thick and heavy in his mouth. “I want to walk. I want to skate with you. I’m tired of worrying everyone just because I survived.”

 

“We’ll skate together. I promise.” Viktor pressed his eyes closed, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

 

Yuuri’s sweater brushed against Viktor’s cheeks, mopping up the remnants of tears.

 

“If you get gold, let’s eat katsudon. Champagne, too.”

 

Viktor felt his mouth twist into an easy smile. “I always get gold.”

 

“Not after dealing with me.” Yuuri said, his fingers moving softly to brush through Viktor’s hair.

 

“Yuu-ri!” Viktor whined, twisting to look into his eyes.

 

“Vik-tor! There’s only one bed in our room. You’re getting really desperate.”


	10. while I play chess with the moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor skates in Barcelona.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for uploading late! I'm attending Skate America today! I'm really excited.
> 
> while I play chess with the moon- Sailboats, Sky Sailing
> 
> A song for Viola : https://youtu.be/tYo0-7TzMSU
> 
>  
> 
> Viktor's costume:  
> https://www.google.com/search?q=johnny.weir+costumes&client=safari&hl=en-us&prmd=isvn&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwj82OvbgOPcAhWNKXwKHeUWA5kQ_AUIESgB&biw=375&bih=628#imgrc=NT06e3Bg_d-D-M:

They woke up twisted around each other, Viktor’s arms slung around Yuuri. Viktor lay awake, watching Yuuri’s breath come in easy, soft lulls. 

 

Viktor’s skates seemed too melancholy and lonely for where he was now. He almost wished he had brought Eros or Agape into fruition, something that he could skate and reach out to Yuuri at the side of the rink. 

 

Instead he skated his short program to a composition he had commissioned  what seemed years ago, his free choreographed to A Song for Viola. 

 

 

Yuuri was still in bed when Viktor pulled his free costume from the dress bag that Yakov had handed him the day before. He wouldn’t be skating until 7 that evening, but he needed something to ground him. 

 

He didn’t want to skate. He wanted to stay with Yuuri and walk the streets of Barcelona. 

 

Viktor smoothed his fingers over the navy blue fabric. He hadn’t been able to completely stop himself from bringing his dreams to life. Their pair skate was too painful, but  _ Yuri On Ice  _ was his call  to the dream-world he had wished that was real. 

 

He didn’t copy the choreography exactly - it was beautiful on Yuuri, not him, after all. He turned the costume into the navy blue coat tails, the front cut deeper to show more of his chest, the sheer fabric moved to the front  and the fleur de lis swarovski crystals trailing down his back. 

 

 

His short program costume — the one he would actually put on that night — was not as inspiring. It was a simple black shirt and pants with chains wrapped around the arms and chest. The designer liked it, and had hyped up the bondage aspect. But when Viktor had shared his idea for it, it was after he read a book about the restraint of the dead to avoid reanimating. His song choice reminded him of a funeral. 

 

Now… it felt over-dramatic.  He couldn’t even remember the feeling of desperation that made him order enough medicine to stop his heart with no hope of return. 

 

He didn’t  _ need _ to follow Yuuri into the dark. Yuuri had come out of it, and now he was by his side. 

 

And awake. A soft sigh escaped from Yuuri’s lips— a low wordless wonder. Yuuri was watching him, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. 

 

Oh. 

 

Yuuri knew this design and where it was from, just as much as he knew. 

 

“It almost feels like it was real.” Yuuri's voice broke on the last syllable 

 

“ Oh… oh Yuuri.” Viktor dropped the fabric he still had draped in his hands and crawled onto the bed.  “It was real.”

 

“Maybe in some other universe.” Yuuri practically rolled his eyes, but a soft smile graced his lips “Because in this universe, we are in Barcelona and you’re still wearing the same clothes as yesterday.”

 

Viktor smoothed a hand against his shirt. Telling Yuuri he was too nervous to get naked so close to him would make Yuuri anxious. It made  _ Viktor _ nervous. 

 

He trusted himself … just not his body. 

 

“It was a long day. Hungry ?” He leaned forward to brush a kiss against Yuuri’s lips. They were chapped, dried out by the recirculated plane air. 

 

“I really want waffles.” Yuuri took his feeding pump off the bedside table— the formula bag was almost empty, running to the end of its 12 hour cycle. 

 

“I’m sure Phichit knows a place.” Viktor’s voice was soft. 

 

Yuuri's expression turned sour. 

 

“I don’t have an eating disorder.” Yuuri's voice was flat and stubborn.

 

“I didn’t say that.”

 

“Phichit thinks so, but he didn’t have to go to therapy. It was an anxiety thing. I have it taken care of.”

 

“Then… can you tell me why now?” Viktor swallowed. He wanted a good morning, not one where he was tripping over his metaphorical feet. 

 

“Because I can’t use my hands!” 

 

His tone was annoyed, until Yuuri rubbed  his face. He let out a long sigh before dropping his hands into his lap. 

 

“It was Natasha’s idea. I wasn’t gaining enough weight for PT orto be released on time. The doctor only signed me out early because I promised I’d go right to Japan and sign up for more physical therapy.“

 

“You should still be in the hospital?” Viktor felt dread pool in his stomach. 

 

“I want to be here.”

 

“Yuuri, you need to go  _ back.” _

 

_ Why are you telling me this now _ ?

 

He wanted to be angry. Angry would be easier.  _ Angry _ burned bright and fast. 

 

But Viktor felt helpless. Helpless and stupid. Yuuri was putting himself in danger just to see him skate, and here he was encouraging it like a fool.

 

“I don’t want to talk about this now.” Yuuri withdrew into himself, his hands moving methodically as he reset the pump.

 

“But we  _ are  _ talking about it now.” 

 

“I won’t go back until I have a good day.” Yuuri punctuated his sentence with a plastic snap as he closed the front of the machine in his hands.

 

Viktor was really good at pushing past first reactions. He did it to hide from the media… to hide from people. This was the first time the skill was useful.

 

His first reaction: Yuuri’s never had a good day.

 

Beyond the initial hurt, the doubt that burned Viktor’s throat… He  realized he hadn’t had a good day either, 

 

They had spent the entire day traveling, where Yuuri had to be drugged to sleep. Viktor still felt the ache in his muscles from cradling Yuuri for all those hours. Then they had fought the night before, and here they were arguing again.

 

Viktor pushed his hands through his hair, sweeping it back with a sigh.  “Let’s get waffles?”

 

Yuuri was rubbing his fingers in circles over the plastic cover of his pump, his head bowed enough to hide his face in his hair. He didn’t say anything.

 

“Your hair is long. It reminds me of when you came to St. Petersburg.” Viktor’s voice softened, his fingers reaching out to brush through  Yuuri’s dark hair.

 

“I never…” Yuuri mumbled. “...I mean...I might’ve been growing it on purpose.”

 

“I love it.” Viktor smiled, leaning down to kiss Yuuri’s cheek. Their unspoken compromise lay between them.

 

They had enough time to get dressed and eat before Viktor had to report for practice. Yakov had reserved a smaller rink in the same complex, still not convinced that his skater was ready after a few days of practice on his own.

 

“Morning, Yakov!” Viktor sang, already in his team Russia jersey set.

 

“Jesus help me, you’re early.” Yakov called back. 

 

“Oh yes! I had something to do.” Viktor sang, wheeling Yuuri past Yakov and through the rink door.

 

“What are you doing, Vitya?” Yuuri squealed, turning red when he realized what name had slipped from his lips.

 

“I wanted some ice time with you before I have to work.” Viktor’s explanation still wasn’t enough, as he lifted the front of Yuuri’s wheelchair over the lip where the ice met the rubber flooring. He paused, pulling his skate guards off as Yuuri sputtered.

 

Viktor smiled, still feeling warm from their carb-heavy breakfast.  It was a little more work to pull Yuuri and the chair across the ice-- but it didn’t matter.  He pulled himself into a spin bringing Yuuri around him in a wide circle. Yuuri’s ‘ _ what are you even doing-- you're crazy--you’re going to ruin the ice-- we’re going to break something’- _ s melted into laughter. Viktor felt it bubble up from his chest too as he pulled Yuuri with him into a very loose compulsory figure.

 

Yuuri’s eyes sparkled as he felt the centripetal force lift and twist his insides as if he were spinning himself. He missed the crash of his feet against the ice, the familiar shock dissipating into a body poised for impact. It wasn’t a complete puzzle, but it was the most at home he had felt for  _ weeks _ .

 

Viktor managed to twist Yuuri’s chair enough to match his basic step sequence. If Yakov was yelling from the rinkside, neither man heard him.

 

Viktor slid to a stop in the middle of the rink, turning to face Yuuri. Any breath he had managed to catch ran away from him again. Yuuri was beautiful-- rosy cheeked and red nosed, eyes as bright as his smile.

 

“You always surprise me, Viktor,” Yuuri laughed, wiping the tears from his eyes. “I thought I was going to die. That’s the best I’ve felt in forever.”

 

Viktor didn’t resist. He sunk down, half in Yuuri’s lap as he hugged him tightly.

 

It has been a surprise… but it had been worth it. He could skate tonight because he had this with Yuuri. The sadness he had written into the choreography before Yuuri was  _ real  _ was unreachable… But the longing to have Yuuri on the ice with him  _ was _ .

 

  

 

The memory of Yuuri’s face on the ice carried Viktor through a long morning of practice, and a mandatory soak before Viktor was to show his face for opening ceremonies.

 

He had almost forgotten the rest of the world-- the media, the ISU… and Yuuri’s coach.

 

It was hard not to be jealous.  Viktor imagined Yuuri sitting by the boards, Viktor’s skate guards in his hands. Instead, he was a few feet away, practically sharing his wheelchair with Phichit as he snuggled close and posed for selfies. Celestino stood back, a female skater in a Team USA jersey between them. Yuuri looked happy and relaxed, even with media hovering close by.

 

“Vitya!” Yuuri called, his smile growing wider when he spotted Viktor. Phichit’s eyes widened, and the other skater looked like she had just swallowed a frog.

 

“Oh my god Yuuri, he’s here.” The girl whispered, not even remotely quiet.

 

“Hi!” Viktor put on his media smile, earning a fangirlish squeal from the skater.

 

“Get it, dude!” She squealed, slapping Yuuri’s shoulder. His cheeks burned red.

 

“This is Sarah.She’s our rinkmate in Detroit.” Phichit grinned. “And she totally saw the Nikiforov Shrine. I knew it.”

 

“Shut up.” Yuuri grabbed Phichit’s selfie stick with both hands. 

 

Phichit gasped dramatically. “No! Not Viktor Nikipole!”

 

Yuuri made a noise like a dying animal, letting the selfie stick slip out of his hands.

 

“Good luck tomorrow!” Viktor said, a little too loudly, still wearing his smile.

 

“Oh, thank you!” Rinkmate-Sarah- blushed. “Good luck tonight. Not that you need it-- I mean…”

 

“I won’t, with Yuuri here cheering me on.” Viktor leaned down, placing a kiss on Yuuri’s cheekbone. His skin was flushed and warm, relaxing as he turned into Viktor, brushing his lips against the skater’s skin.

 

“So… Yuuri… When did Viktor ask you out? And how come  you didn’t tell me?” Phichit cocked his head to the side, rocking back and forth on his feet.

 

Viktor tried not to get angry-- it was a question, and he wasn’t trying to be rude…  But Yuuri panicked, the cute flush draining out of his face.

 

“He-- I… um…” Yuuri licked his lips. “He didn’t ask me out.”

 

“No way! You asked HIM?” Phichit slammed his hands down on the armrest of Yuuri’s wheelchair, eyes wide.

 

“N-no…” Yuuri stuttered. Phichit’s eyes narrowed and he backed up, standing up straight. His eyes flickered to Viktor, and awkward silence settling in the group.

 

“Well.. I can ask him out for you…” Phichit said quietly.

 

“No! I…. I’ll be right back.” Yuuri grabbed the grips of his chairs wheels, pushing himself painfull slowly away from the group.

 

Viktor took a step forward, and Phichit reached out, placing a hand against his chest.  “Stop. Give him space. It seems dumb, but that's what he needs right now.”

 

Viktor hesitated, but let him go.

 

They watched the opening ceremonies without a word, before Viktor left to warm up before he took to the ice.

 

He had expected to feel too light for his choreography, but Yuuri’s panic weighed him down. Yuuri smiled as he passed by,  but his eyes were still red-rimmed and tired.

 

Viktor went third, moving through his choreography like clockwork. The chains around his wrists were jewelry-grade, but they felt like shackles.  This was his life, and he had been so happy that he had forgotten that it was real. Not putting a name to it… to whatever he had with Yuuri… had been okay when he was a ghostly image in his head.

 

Now he was  _ real _ .

 

Viktor stepped off the ice. Yuuri, as promised, was at the boards, holding Viktor’s Makkachin tissue case in his lap.

 

Crying.

 

“Your left foot was sloppy.” Yakov said, clapping him on his back. Viktor strained his neck, feeling like his head was on a string tied to Yuuri, even as he was pushed toward the kiss and cry bench.

 

He placed second, but didn’t particularly care. He still had his free program, and his real prize was sitting a few meters away. The second the media turned to cover the next skater, Viktor slipped away from Yakov.

 

“Yuuri.”

 

“They’re stupid. They must have miscounted the rotations, or--”

 

“ _ Yuuri.”  _ Viktor laughed. Yuuri sounded angry, which was warming and adorable all at once. “You were crying.”

 

Yuuri blinked, as if he had forgot. “Your skate… it was really sad. Like a funeral.”

 

Yuuri’s words were the only prize Viktor would ever need.

 

“Next year will be happier. I promise.”

 


	11. 'Cause I'll doze off safe and soundly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time for some softe domisticity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Cause I'll doze off safe and soundly -- Vanilla Twilight, Owl City

Viktor woke up with a text from Mari.

 

Mari Katsuki: my mom wants to know what airport to book tickets to

 

Viktor blinked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes that kept him from reading his phone clearly.

 

Oh.

 

Tonight was the last competition for men's singles. Closing ceremonies would happen on Sunday, and  after that… the future was a blur.

 

They had return tickets to St. Petersburg, booked out of habit. But that wasn’t home for Yuuri.

 

Viktor: Pulkovo is closest to where I live

 

Mari Katsuki: ok. Please send passport numbers

 

Mari Katsuki: viktor too

 

The panic gripping Viktor’s heart lessened when the she second text arrive.

 

They wanted him.

 

   

 

Viktor smoothed the front of his costume. He was glad he had waited… placing second and making Yuuri cry had ruined the mood the night before. Today, it would be perfect. He was in a costume that had special meaning for both of them… the musical composition was hopeful (and only a little melancholy).

 

He would skate for Yuuri, and then put how he felt into words.

 

“Davai, Vitya.” Yuuri pressed the button nose of the poodle tissue case to Viktor’s nose, smiling shyly.

 

“G--ganbarry-mash.” Viktor stuttered, pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s cheek, his laugh humming in his ear.

 

He pushed onto the ice, feeling lighter than he ever had before.

  
  


   

 

“And he totally just DROPPED to his knees and said, “Yuuri! Be my boyfriend!” RIGHT in front of the cameras and everything! I’m pretty sure NBC broadcast it! The whole world saw it!” Phichits voice filled the entire restaurant. Viktor squeezed Yuuri close, smiling nervously into the iphone sitting propped up against a salt shaker.

 

“We know.” Mari said from the tiny screen “We had a viewing party.”

 

Yuuri buried his face in his hands and groaned.

 

“Mom’s really excited to see him on Friday.”  Mari’s smirk could be heard through her tone.

 

“F-friday?” Yuuri looked up at his now-official-boyfriend.

 

“Oh… yeah, we have tickets to Japan…”

 

“But… Makkachin.” Yuuri’s voice dropped.

 

“We have three days in St. Petersburg…” Viktor suddenly realized that they had two  _ one way _ tickets.

 

“Bring her. Vicchan loves girls.” Mari chirped. Yuuri turned red again-- why he did was beyond Viktor.

  
  
  


   

 

Viktor settled Yuuri back in his chair, his sleeping beauty still dozing despite being jostled from the taxi and up a flight of stairs. They had avoided another full-blown panic attack on the long flights home, but the medicinal dose hadn’t been perfected. Yuuri’s head lolled back as Viktor fished for his keys-- keys he hadn’t used for nearly a month.  His only other set were in the hands of Makkachin’s caretaker, who had taken the extra time to collect all of Viktors mail.

 

He needed to buy her a card. Or a cake. Flowers?

 

Makkachin scratched at the door the moment she heard his keys slide into the lock. She jumped onto Viktor when he pushed the door open, eagerly licking his face, her tail beating both sides of the door frame.

 

Her nose twitched before she turned her head. Immediately forgetting her lifelong owner, Makkachin jumped down, climbing up onto Yuuri’s chair carefully, pressing her wet nose to his. His eyes fluttered open, Viktor’s heart barely able to stand the sweetness of Yuuri’s smile and Makkachin’s gentleness. She licked his mouth, kissing him just as eagerly as she did Viktor.

 

“Hi, baby girl.” Yuuri cooed, laughing as Makkachin wiggled excitedly and licked him fervently. His fingers scratched at her curly fur, sinking in and massaging her floppy ears.

 

“She loves you.” Viktor murmured. His apartment was dark… he usually left a light and some music on for Makkachin… he’d have to talk about that.

 

“Dogs can tell when people like animals.” Yuuri’s smile was bright, and he laughed as Makkachin tried to fit herself on his lap.

 

“It’s more than that. I think… I think she remembers you.”

 

Yuuri didn’t reply, cooing soft adminitions in Japanese into the dogs fur.

 

They settled into the  dark apartment. Viktor had already decided to use the few days of reprieve to pack what he would need for an indefinite stay. The Katsukis had paid for a one way ticket, after all. His apartment was painted only with lonely, sad memories that Viktor was eager to leave behind.

 

Turning up the heat and switching on every light didn’t do much to shake the feeling. Viktor busied himself with pulling their suitcases into his bedroom and pulling out Yuuri’s pajamas.

 

All it took was Yuuri to make his apartment feel like home. Viktor had imagined him drifting back to sleep in his chair, Makkachin a warm and heavy blanket on his lap. Instead, he pushed his knees against the cabinet, searching for something as the samovar steamed and bubbled cheerfully on the counter top.  Two mugs--the only two mugs Viktor owned-- sat on the countertop. Yuuri wrinkled his nose as he pulled out the jar of raspberry jam, setting it down next to a paper packet covered in cyrillic. His eyebrows raised as he came across the metal tin of genmaicha, as if he had forgotten their tea date months ago.

 

“I can do this.” Viktor crossed the kitchen, pulling the tightly fitting lid off of the tin. Yuuri leaned forward, his long fingers still wrapped around the tin, his eyes closing as he drunk in the scent.

 

“We’re made for each other. You already have my favorite tea.” Yuuri sounded light and nervous all at once, his cheeks flushing as he slid the tin onto the counter.

 

“Are...you sure you don’t want jam in it?” Viktor opened the drawer where he stored his solitary strainer, and pulled out a spoon for the both of them. Yuuri laughed.

 

“Just because you do it doesn’t mean I like it,” Yuuri teased. He poured the leaves into the strainer, his hands shaking enough that the shriveled leaves spilled onto the counter.

 

“I like everything about you.” Viktor tried to sound injured, but stopped as soon as irritation crossed Yuuri’s face. He tried to sweep the leaves off the counter and into his hands, but his fingers didn’t curl just right.

 

“It’s fine. Makka will eat it,” Viktor said sharply. 

 

Yuuri’s brow furrowed. “You can’t feed dogs tea leaves!” He sounded incredulous and angry all at once. “Well.. one time Vicchan ate a beetle… so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

 

“A beetle?”

 

“Alive, off the sidewalk.” 

 

Viktor reached over Yuuri, not wanting to risk his hands on the boiling water in the samovar. He poured the water into each cup. “That’s disgusting.”

 

“I was just glad it wasn’t a bee or a …mukade,”

 

“Mukade?”

 

“Like.. a worm.. With a thousand legs. They always travel in pairs.”

 

“That is kind of romantic.”

 

“They’re poisonous.” Yuuri wrinkled his nose, dipping the tea strainer into the mug closest to him. “You can’t squish them, or more will come and attack you.  My mom would drown them in bleach and then cook them on the stove.”

 

Viktor didn’t realize the face he was making until Yuuri flushed even deeper. “She’s very protective.” He muttered, focusing on his mug.

 

After finishing the tea, Viktor lifted Yuuri up onto his bed.

 

“It’s big.” Yuuri commented, watching as Viktor untied his shoes and pulled off his socks.

 

“Makkachin likes a lot of space.” Viktor paused, staring at a rather large purple bruise on the top of Yuuri’s right foot.  “What happened?”

 

“I don’t know. I probably got caught on something.” Yuuri shrugged, his breath turning into a sharp gasp as Viktor’s lips brushed against it.

 

“Sorry-- should I stop?” Viktor looked up, Yuuri’s eyes wide and face warm.

 

“No-I-- It’s okay--I- I forgot about.”

 

“About what?” Viktor blinked innocently. He enjoyed helping Yuuri. He was still weak from being bedridden for weeks. Undoing buttons and laces reminded Viktor that this was physical and  _ real. _

 

“Your foot thing.”

 

“I have a Yuuri thing.” Viktor murmured, moving on to pull off Yuuri’s other sock. Yuuri made  a strangled noise.

 

“Don’t say stuff like that. It’s embarrassing.”

 

“It’s the truth.” Viktor shrugged, helping Yuuri lift his hips enough to slide his jeans off. His shirt was fine to sleep in, but it smelled like airplane and recycled air, and Viktor wanted to see how far down Yuuri’s chest his blush went.

 

Yuuri didn’t say anything else, focusing on slipping his arms through sleeves and using what muscle he had left to slide to one side of the bed.

 

“Goodnight, Yuuri.” Viktor hummed, turning off the light. He paused, his hands brushing Yuuri’s cheeks. “What's wrong?” They were still too warm.

 

“I can’t believe I’m in your bed.”

 

Viktor frowned. They had been sharing a bed before Yuuri had even left the hospital.  “I can sleep on the couch…”

 

“No. Stay.” 

 

   

 

Like life in reverse, Viktor woke up to have the reality of his life to trickle back to him. Instead of his dream world fading away, the pieces of reality slotted into place perfectly.

 

Yuuri slept like an angel next to him. Makkachin was spooned between them, and Yuuri’s cheek was streaked with a line of drool. A sleeping beauty.

 

Viktor pinched himself first. He dragged his fingernails down his forearm, blinking hard.

 

This wasn’t a dream.

 

“Viktor?” Yuuri’s voice was thick with sleep, and his hand warm as his fingertips brushed his cheeks and pushed back his hair. “Why are you crying?”

 

Viktor blinked, hurriedly wiping the tears away.  “I’m happy.”

 

“Do people cry when they’re happy?” Yuuri yawned. Makkachin huffed, turning into her back and tapping her paws against Viktor impatiently.

 

“I guess they do.” Viktor sniffed, and Yuuri’s palm pressed to his cheek.

 

“I cried when you cut your hair.” Yuuri mumbled, his eyes heavy-lidded and dreamy.

 

“You cried?”

 

“Mmm.”

 

It was sweet and stinging. His own Yuuri had known him-- known he existed, idolized him for years.. Years that had been stolen from him. If Yuuri knew he had existed, why hadn’t he searched for him?

 

Viktor faltered.

 

He couldn’t be mad.

 

Viktor had never looked, either. Yuuri had seemed to him like a figment of his imagination until he had nearly died. He was to blame, the one who had waited. He was the own maker of his misery.

 

Until now. He was happy.


	12. we'll stir the stars around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor is invited to spend his birthday in Hasetsu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we'll stir the stars around-- on the wing, owl city 
> 
> This is the chapter that makes the fluff tag. Teeth-rottingly cute for another chapter. Plot? What plot? (Don't worry, there's angst coming back in Chapter 13)

Viktor had never felt more deliciously out of his element. He had transited through Incheon airport countless times before, but the short flight to Fukuoka sent his nerves on fire. They flew on JAL--an airline Viktor had only flown codeshares on before. The stewardesses spoke Japanese to Yuuri, and completely ignored Viktor... And he didn't mind. It was strange and wonderful to see Yuuri’s native language pour out of him.  Across the aisle, a mother and her small child folded origami on the tray table. Viktor imagined Yuuri and his mother doing the same. Imagined Yuuri smoothing the crease in the paper for small, chubby hands. The flight crew served artificially sweet orange juice and lime-green soda in waxy paper cups despite the short flight time.

 

“You have to go through that line.” Yuuri pointed to the line several rows down. He had completely missed the English dividing between Japanese nationals and foreign visitors.

 

“But-- can you?”

 

“Yeah. I can. I’ll miss you.” Yuuri looked apologetic as they separated through customs. Ten minutes was nearly unbearable, but they reunited before Viktor could panic about picking up Makkachin without a translator.

 

After leaving Cargo and letting Makkachin stretch her legs, they took the elevator back up to baggage claim. They followed the long line of glass doors, the people on the other side infuriatingly unreachable.

 

Viktor heard them before he saw them. A loud chorus of ‘Yuuri!”, matching the equally loud banners they held. An older woman was holding up a banner with Yuuri’s name emblazoned it on pink, and she lept gracefully into the air when the came into view.

 

“Oh my god, they all came.” Yuuri sounded humiliated, shrinking in his  chair. Viktor pushed him forward, eager to make another dream a reality.

 

Yuuri’s mother looked exactly the same-- maybe a bit slimmer and paler from stress. She had the same soft warm smile, and swept both of them into a hug. The air smelled sweetly of flowers, the two of them suddenly surrounded by them. A tiny kid with blonde hair and a red streak reminiscent of a chicken stood on the outskirts of the group, holding one of the largest bouquets.

 

“Minako-sensei...Nakamura-san...Mari-nee-chan..!” Yuuri stuttered. Viktor was soon lost in a sea of quick-paced Japanese chatter even more confusing than the language in his dreams.

 

“Hey, Viktor.”  He instantly recognized Mari from their frequent hospital calls. She looked smaller in person, but no less of a presence, her ears pierced with more holes than Viktor could ever imagine handling himself. “Welcome to Japan.” She punched his shoulder casually.  It almost sounded like  _ Welcome home. _

 

It took an hour for Yuuri to work through the crowd, their suitcases arriving only to be piled up with flowers and posters. Mari pointed out a few of Yuuri’s old teachers, some neighbors who had wanted to come along, and an old coach of Yuuri’s.

 

“Who is the blonde kid?” Viktor leaned close to Mari. 

 

“Huh? Oh, Minami. He’s a big fan. Really idolizes Yuuri.  He lives in Hakata, not too far.”

 

Viktor blinked. “This seems… like a lot of attention.”

 

Mari made a vague noise in the back of her throat. “Minami raised money for Yuuri’s medical costs.  Minako helped run Yuutopia for a few days after we found out...Inaura-sensei made us dinner for a week, and she’s still teaching. Yuuri is important to all of us…”

 

Yuuri fell asleep while they loaded up the car, struggling to fit the wheelchair and the new gifts in the back of the van.  Viktor fiddled with the cover of Yuuri’s feeding pump-- which still snaked down his nose and added ten minutes to their airport screening time. The conversations of the crowd around him faded to the background, lost in a language Viktor couldn’t understand.

Yuuri only woke up at the jostle of Viktor sliding his arms under Yuuri’s knees and lifting him from the car. The driveway was gravel, and there was a high step into a house. Viktor carried him into the main hallway, thankful that Yuuri was still waking up for the whole trip.

 

“No! No….” Yuuri mumbled, cluing into a conversation Viktor was completely missing. “Viktor… stay.” Yuuri yawned. Mari looked impatient.

 

“If Viktor doesn’t help, you don’t have a bed to sleep in.” Mari spoke in English, giving Viktor a flat look.

 

“Y-yeah, I can help Yuuri. I’d love to stretch out.”

 

“No! Stay out of my room!” Yuuri pressed his hands to his face. 

 

Mari rolled her eyes. “He asked you to date him on international television. He’s at least as extra as you are.”

 

Yuuri continued to protest, Viktor feeling pulled in both directions. It took Hiroko to distract Yuuri enough for Viktor to slip upstairs.

 

It felt strange, stepping into a room plastered with his face.  Every piece of memorabilia from his junior days to the year Yuuri moved to Detroit graced the walls-- with a few empty squares.

 

“Wow,” Viktor paused, picking up a framed picture off of Yuuri’s desk. It was covered with a thin film of dust that couldn’t quite dim the silver ink of his signature.

 

Mari snickered, stripping the sheets off the bed in the corner of the room. It definitely wasn’t four years worth of dust, and the room had obviously been cared for in Yuuri’s absence. But it still felt like the ghost of a living space--a mere image of a place where one belonged.

 

“Help me carry this downstairs?” Mari lifted the mattress to the side so it would fit through the doorway.

 

“I’m sorry-- I should’ve told you.” Viktor lifted his end.

 

“Tell us what?”

 

“What he needs, he--”

 

“Viktor. You’re not his nurse. You’re his...what, lover?”

 

“Boyfriend.” Viktor flushed, glad that his face was hidden. They carried the mattress to a banquet room on the ground floor-- closer to a bathroom and only a few feet (and not a flight of stairs) from the kitchen and living room. Viktor and Yuuri’s suitcase were already in the corner of the room, at the foot of another mattress the same size as Yuuri’s.

 

“I--- oh.”

 

“It’s here, or in Yuuri’s room.” Mari dropped the mattress next to the first one, resting her hands on her hips.  “I guessed after that instagram post that it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

 

“You saw that?” Viktor’s voice squeaked, and Mari laughed.

 

“Half the world did, little brother.”

  
  


;

 

By the time December 25th arrived, the grip of jet lag (jisaboke, which also happened to be  one of the first words Viktor learned during his stay in Japan) had faded away. The awkwardness of morning routines had fallen into a pattern. Viktor and the Katsukis ate breakfast together, before Viktor helped Yuuri into the van and Hiroko or Toshiya drove them to physical therapy. Yuuri graduated from his feeding tube--even though his place at a table had a fork and spoon with a fat foam handle and hand strap instead of the lacquer chopsticks resting on top of other placemats.

 

When the waiting room at the PT office became too small, Viktor started packing his skates. Yuuko and Takeshi were just as welcoming as their dream-selves, inviting him to skate whenever the ice was open. Ice Castle was walking distance from where Yuuri did PT-- Hasetsu was concentrated around downtown, everything centered around the train station.  While it was great for entertainment while Yuuri was busy… it meant that everything to do was a twenty minute walk away from Yuutopia.

 

“Good morning!” Hiroko said in her usual sing-song tone that she used on any English she latched onto. The usual breakfast- miso, rice and salad with juicy tomato and warm sesame dressing-- was missing. Instead the table was set with jars of red jam, honey and sour cream, a plate in the middle piled with syrniki. Viktor remembered seeing a yogurt cup sized container of sour cream at the Aeon supermarket at the same cost that he could get a kilogram of it at home. Seeing the large bowl of it, along with the cured meat and fish arranged into a flower made Viktor feel loved and too expensive all at once.

 

“Wha-- why?”  Viktor blinked back tears. He had planned on sitting and drinking coffee until Yuuri woke up, and instead he was presented with a feast. There was even a box of tea obviously sent from Russia sitting on the table.

 

“Happy birthday!” Hiroko smiled, patting Viktor’s cheek lovingly. “Yuuri wa?” She slipped back into her Japanese as if Viktor always knew what she meant. (He didn’t, but he could guess.) Viktor ran back to his room,  _ their _ room, where Yuuri was still in bed. Makkachin had taken Viktor’s place in Yuuri’s arms, and Vicchan was curled in the space behind Yuuri’s knees.

 

“ _ Yuuri _ .” Viktor hissed, grabbing his arm and shaking it. “Yuuri, this isn’t fair for you to surprise me and not even get to enjoy it.” He couldn’t help smiling, letting Yuuri’s hand connect with his face as he swatted him away sleepily.

 

“Yuuri, I love you.” Viktor sang, and Yuuri grunted something that didn’t quite reach human language.

 

“Yuuuuuuriiiii!” Viktor slipped his arms between the two dogs, lifting Yuuri up out of the bed and onto his feet. He was able to stand on his feet with support now-- a big accomplishment. Yuuri slumped into him, resting his cheek against Viktors chest and sighing.

 

“Good morning, my love, my sun, my everything.” Viktor squeezed Yuuri, smoothing his disaster of a bed head hair down.

 

“Morning.” Yuuri mumbled, nuzzling into Viktor’s chest. “Happy birthday.”

 

“It’s happier now that you’re awake.” Viktor cooed, earning another grumpy sigh from Yuuri. “Are you hungry? Do you need the bathroom?”

 

“This is nice.” Yuuri said into Viktor’s chest, his hands brushing the small of Viktor’s back.

 

“It is. But I don’t want to tire you out before the day has even begun. You have PT--”

 

“No I don’t.” Yuuri yawned, straightening up. Viktor helped move him toward his chair, pulling it closer and moving his feet into a comfortable position.

 

“You’ve had it every day. Mari told me about Christmas in Japan--”

 

“Yeah. It’s a date night. But it's your birthday too.” Yuuri had finally reached a functioning level of consciousness. “I have plans.”

 

“Plans?”

 

“Plans. Schemes. Ideas.” Yuuri smiled, grabbing his glasses off the top of the dresser.

 

“I’m excited. Although, I think I spoiled them. I saw breakfast.”

 

As expected, Yuuri looked a little disappointed. “Surprise! Mom wanted to cook you something.”

 

“Where did you get all that? There’s no way from Russia-”

 

“There’s a big Russian community in Yokohama. My  mom got it all online.” Yuuri shrugged. “She just asked if you would like it, the rest was all her. She’s still weird about me doing too much.”

 

“So you didn’t plan that?”

 

“No.” Yuuri flushed. “Not breakfast. I have plans for dinner, and after. I took the day off from PT so we could do something together. I feel bad…”

 

“Don’t.” Viktor breathed. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

 

Hiroko only  _ slightly  _ freaked out when Viktor drops a spoonful of raspberry jam into his mug of tea. Her eyes were wide and she made a soft noise of wonder, before she shook her head and pushed the jam jar closer to Viktor. Later that afternoon, Viktor could hear Hiroko talking about it to some of the guests, much like she had when she had seen Viktor eat a grape skin-and-all in his first week in Japan.

 

“What’s next?” Viktor asked, after much protest, he had at least helping clear the table off. Yuuri immediately turned a cute shade of pink. 

 

“I… I was thinking we could go to the onsen… and I could wash your back for you.”

His voice dropped in volume with each word, his warm brown eyes dropping from Viktor’s face to the floor.

 

Viktor suddenly felt like he was on fire.

“Or...not… nevermind.” Yuuri looked red enough that Hiroko paused in her puttering about to look at her son.

 

“No… I mean.. Please.” Viktor felt his cheeks warm too. “I’d like that. You… I… Yuuri, you have no idea what you do to me.”

 

Yuuri still didn’t meet Viktor’s eyes, nursing a spoon, sucking off the remaining layer of jam after spreading it across the syrniki on his plate.

 

“Yuuri…” Viktor leaned forward, whispering his love’s name into his ear, nipping at his earlobe.

 

“Ara!” Hiroko jumped at the massive clatter, her son falling from his chair and taking his plate with him.

 

Viktor swore, diving after Yuuri, terrified that he was hurt, or would push him away.

 

Instead, Yuuri laughed. His laughter was bright and bubbly, his eyes scrunched up with a sweet smile.

 

“I’m so sorry, starlight.” Viktor whispered as he moved to help Yuuri back into his chair.

 

“It’s my fault. I overreacted.”

 

“No, it’s mine. I surprised you.”

 

“Yeah, you did.” Yuuri relented, giving Viktor a private smile. Hiroko was already cleaning up the scattered contents of Yuuri’s plate off of the floor and the front of his shirt.

 

“I’ll have to make it up to you.” Viktor murmured, taking a syrniki from his plate and lifting it to Yuuri’s lips.

 

“I-I should be feeding  _ you. _ ” Yuuri stuttered. Hiroko hummed knowingly, setting a new plate in front of Yuuri before leaving the dining room.

 

“I like taking care of you.” Viktor lost his train of thought, watching Yuuri chew, his mouth working, and his eyes lit up at the taste. “Good?”

 

“Yeah. I miss cheese.”

 

“Even sweet cheese?” Viktor chuckled.

 

“Never underestimate Phichit and full access to Wawa. We had a lot of….weird food.”

 

“I’m insulted, Yuuri. This is my homeland’s food? Do you not like Russian delicacies?”

 

“I like one of them,” Yuuri mumbled, biting his bottom lip. The innuendo was obvious, and so cute Viktor wanted to squeeze Yuuri to death.

 

They finished eating together; Yuuri even indulged Viktor and took a sip of his jam-and-tea. He was unable to hide his distaste, even when he tried to discreetly drown the taste by chugging the rest of his glass of water.

 

“I...asked for the onsen to be closed for us.” Yuuri said shyly when their plates were empty and stomachs full.

 

“Can we take your wheelchair in there?” Viktor hummed, tapping his chin. 

 

“Oh, probably not--” Yuuri’s voice cut off as Viktor lifted him up and held him in his arms.

 

“You don’t have to.” Yuuri grunted.

 

“I like to. I promise.”

 

“Why?” The word was short, slipping from Yuuri’s mouth before he even realized what he was saying. “A-aren’t you tired of it?”

 

“No. Never,” Viktor’s voice lowered, and he pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s jawline. “It makes me feel useful. It’s a way I can show my love, and try to return what you give me.”

 

“What, big biceps?”

 

Viktor can’t help laughing. “No, Yuuri. Your love.”

 

“Oh.” Yuuri’s voice dissolved into a breath, and he closed his eyes, resting his head against Viktor’s shoulder.

 

The men’s showers were empty. Yuuri pulled off his shirt on his own, but indulged Viktor and let him pull off his socks and unbutton his jeans.

 

Viktor lifted him again to bring him to the tile-lined stations, each one fitted with a hand-held shower head, plastic stool and bulk-size shampoo bottles. 

 

“That one.” Yuuri said, just as red before. Viktor could see why they hadn’t bathed together yet, even with the constant praise of Yuutopia’s onsen. He could feel Yuuri’s skin stick to his, every inch exposed to each other. Their necessary closeness changed it from natural tradition to something more just with the touch of bare skin.

 

“They’re all the same-- oh.” Viktor felt like crying again. In a plastic bucket he could see the bottles of his favorite shampoo and conditioner. Even his face wash is sitting amongst the cyrillic-emblazoned bottles. Yuuri knew him so well.

 

“Sit on the stool.” There were two stools pushed in front of the station, and Yuuri settled with little assistance on the one closest to the glass doors.

 

Viktor closed his eyes, trying to relax as he felt the warm water run over his back and soak his hair. He wanted to take the shower head, to make sure that Yuuri won’t slip off the plastic stool. But then Yuuri’s fingers pulled through his hair, and Viktor couldn’t help but shudder in pleasure.

 

“I--- how much?” Yuuri asked, squinting at the bottle in his hand.

 

“This one.” Viktor traded the conditioner bottle in Yuuri’s hand for the shampoo. “Hm. No more than 500 yen coin?”

 

Yuuri’s expression changed, something sweet and unreadable, and Viktor watched until the comparatively cold shampoo was worked into the crown of his head.

 

“Did you know I used a 3 in 1 shampoo until I moved in with Phichit?” Yuuri whispered, even though they were alone. His fingers massaged against Viktor’s scalp, and he felt himself melting into Yuuri’s touch.

 

“That’s terrifying.” Viktor didn’t have the presence of mine to gasp in disgust. Shivers ran up his spine when Yuuri’s fingers found a particular part on his skull.

 

“It was cheap.” Yuuri laughed, turning on the water and rinsing the suds away.

 

“Cheap doesn’t mean smart.” Yuuri’s touch was more sure as he worked the conditioner into Viktor’s silver hair.

 

“I’ve heard it before, believe me.” Viktor noticed Yuuri’s hand shaking as he went for Viktor’s body wash.

 

“I want you to use some.”

 

“Huh?” Yuuri stopped, distracted enough that whatever whirlwind he was thinking of dissolved, and his hands steadied.

 

“I like it when you smell like me.” Viktor felt his ears burn---Viktor, Russia’s playboy, is a wreck over something as innocent as a public bath.

 

“Here.  If we do it at the same time, we can go in the hot springs faster.” Viktor said, taking the bottle from Yuuri and squeezing an equal amount into their palms.

 

Yuuri seemed to steady somewhat, although his palms still slid across the plane of Viktor’s back, lathered with soap.

 

Yuuri finished by washing the last of the conditioner out of Viktor’s hair and dumping a bucket of water over himself.

 

“You’re not…?”

 

Yuuri flushed. “I wanted to focus on you…”

 

Even though Viktor would spend a lifetime in the shower room with Yuuri, the air was chilly and Yuuri insisted they go to the baths. Viktor lifted Yuuri, carrying him to his favorite-- the outdoor bath. Yuutopia offered an electric-current bath, as well as a cool salt-mineral bath, but Viktor had taken a liking to the one outside of the inn itself. It was surrounded by rough stones, and where he had expected fake plants and painted wood, he had found moss and lovingly trimmed ivy.

 

“This one is my favorite.” Yuuri murmured as they slipped into the water. “It’s easier to forget where you are out here.”

 

“That’s why I love it. It’s another world.” Viktor replied before sliding down until the water lapped at his nose.

 

“So… just so you know...Christmas is kind of a date night in Japan.” Yuuri broke the comfortable silence between them, his gaze slipping away again.

 

“Oh.” Viktor’s voice and eyebrows raised. “Color me interested.”

 

“People...will think we’re a couple.”

 

“Are we not?” Viktor’s heart skipped a beat unpleasantly.

 

“I….yes.” Yuuri nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile. “Good… I wanted to go out. Mari and Minako-sensei are having Kentucky at home.”

 

“Kentucky?” Viktor frowned. A whole country? Or whatever it counted as. It was never a place that hosted a qualification event, so Viktor had no need to know.

 

“Kentucky fried chicken. It’s… Japanese tradition.” Viktor could tell Yuuri felt silly telling him this.

 

“That’s adorable.”

 

“What do you usually do for Christmas?”

 

“Not much. It isn’t celebrated until January in Russia.”

 

“But…”

 

“Mhmm.” Viktor knows it’s his birthday. It has been his birthday his entire life. But except for the year Mila joined Yakov’s team and tried to get on his good side, he had never celebrated it. What Yuuri had done so far had blown all of his birthdays out of the water, and it wasn’t even past noon yet.

 

Yuuri let Viktor dress him, down to his awful no-show socks and slip-on canvas shoes. He looked nice in a cream cable knit sweater, but it would not be an outfit Viktor would put Yuuri in. Mari drove them to the Fukuoka city center, where they spent the time between arriving and the sun setting shopping Canal City Hakata. Yuuri gasped in delight at the Starbucks, and they shared a gingerbread latte between them. (There was a story about it, involving Phichit and a broken bus, but Viktor got distracted by the whipped cream on Yuuri’s upper lip.)

 

The sun set close to four, and Yuuri led Viktor toward Uminonakamichi Seaside Park. The park was glowing brilliant with hundreds of Christmas lights, some forming cherry blossom trees, seas of mosaic flower beds. There were plenty of light tunnels and photo opportunities. Even the ferris wheel was lit up, and Viktor took his favorite photo with it in the background.

 

Though nowhere like St. Petersburg, it got colder the more time that passed. Yuuri’s breath comes out in a blue-lit cloud, his nose pink from the cold and his lips utterly kissable. By the time they reached the edge of the park, Viktor noticed that the crowd has thinned to scattered couples. The last section of lights glowed pink-- each bulb shaped into hearts or roses. There was a line to an archway, heavy with real roses and lit with an intricately woven sign-- love.

 

“Let’s go.” Viktor pushed Yuuri toward the line. Unlike how it would be in St. Petersburg, the line was neat, and each couple got their shots quickly.

 

“I’ll just-- “ Viktor was ready to crouch down. The sign would be cut out of the frame, but it was the memory that counted.

 

“Wait.” Yuuri pushed himself out of his chair. Once he was on his feet he wobbled, falling into Viktor’s chest.

 

“Can I take your picture?” A woman says in practiced, perfect English. Viktor smiled brightly and handed over his iPhone while Yuuri stared up at him.

 

The photo took the place of Viktor’s favorite-- both of them standing, wrapped around each other, flushed and smiling and framed by love.

 

They ate at an Italian restaurant nice enough that Yuuri snatched the bill away from Viktor before he could even reach for it. The rendezvous spot where Yuuri’s father planned to pick them up was in front of a jewelry store. Toshiya ended up delayed, and Viktor noticed that  Yuuri’s eyes kept darting to the storefront.

 

“Do you want to look?” Viktor said after the third time he lost eye contact with Yuuri.

 

“No… It’s after  seven--they’re closed. I was… I was just...thinking.” Yuuri’s adam's apple bobbed as he nervously swallowed.

 

“About… Barcelona?” Viktor remembered his last birthday. How it had been nice, and a little bittersweet, to wake up without something round and golden on his finger.

 

Yuuri sounded embarrassed, his breath coming out in a rush before he nodded. The moment broke, the van emblazoned with Yuutopia Katsuki rolling up to the curb with a cheerful honk.

 

“Thank you, lyubov. This was a amazing day. “ Viktor kissed Yuuri’s cheek once they were in the van and headed back toward Hasetsu. Back home.

 

“It’s not over yet.” Yuuri said with a flush.Toshiya laughed, and Viktor was unable to brush the suspiciousness away for the whole ride home.

 

The entire family was in the genkan, newly fitted with a plywood ramp for Yuuri.

 

“Happy birthday, Viktor!” Even Yuuko was there, her three girls in tow. Hiroko stood in the middle, surrounded by Makkachin and Vicchan-- who are far more interested in the roly-poly poodle puppy cradled in her arms. Makkachin greeted them with an enthusiastic  _ boof _ .  Viktor didn’t notice when he teared up this time-- tears rolled down his cheeks openly. Hiroko cooed, slipping the puppy into Viktor’s arms. Instead of a collar, there was a gigantic bow tied around her neck.

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor sobbed, turning to look toward him. Yuuri’s eyes sparkled, and he was surprised he wasn’t crying himself.

 

“Her name is Mochi, but we can change it…” Yuuri’s voice wobbled, watching the puppy lick Viktor’s chin.

 

“We have a baby, Yuuri.” Viktor cooed, lifting the puppy up to stare into her dark beady eyes.

 

“It’s kind of a proposal, isn’t it?” Yuuri laughed.

 

This year, Yuuri gave him something round and soft.


	13. The stars lean down to kiss you /And I lie awake and miss you

As the months turned, and it got colder and colder. Yakov called came every two weeks like clockwork. They would talk about routines, music choice and what would come next. With every call, Viktor would avoid directly answering Yakov’s question:  _ When are you returning to St. Petersburg? _ He hated the question, he hated the way Yakov looked at him whenever they did a video chat. He looked at him like a cracked tea cup-- delicate and ready to shatter. It wasn’t like Yakov to let Viktor avoid a decision for so long, or the myriad of things Viktor was getting away with.  

 

It wasn’t like Viktor to forget about competing.

 

But life was different. Yuuri was here now.

 

Yakov could not forget the letter he had found in his proteges apartment. But Viktor could forget about the life he was living when he ordered the medicine, intending to overdose.  He could easily forget it, when he looked to the left and could see Yuuri’s smile, easily forget the time before he could brush a finger across Yuuri’s bottom lip.

 

However, true to the Yakov of Viktor’s childhood and adolescence, the decision had to be made, whether Viktor liked it or not.

 

February in Hasetsu had started to rival Russia, if only for the damp, bone-deep chill.  The cold kept Viktor inside, spending his time reading magazines in the waiting room of Yuuri’s physical therapy office instead of walking twenty minutes to Ice Castle.  The receptionist knew Viktor by name, and served him tea and foil wrapped cookies after Yuuri disappeared into the back to begin his work. When he brought his textbooks, the receptionist commented on how neat his kanji were, smiling when Viktor practiced his vocabulary in his still awkwardly stilted Japanese.

 

It was an easy pattern to fall into, until Yuuri broke it.

 

“Hey, Vitya?” Viktor blinked. Yuuri’s voice came from the back room, carrying through the thin wood, two hours before he was due to be finished.

 

“Yuuri?” Viktor stood up, walking to the middle of the tiny waiting room. He could hear several of the therapists giggling.

 

“Um-- stay there, okay? Right in front of the door.” Yuuri’s voice came through the door again, before the doorknob slowly turned.

 

Viktor immediately smiled-- seeing Yuuri on his feet was enough. It had been a long few months, watching Yuuri struggle-- falling asleep after appointments, breaking down in frustration. Every step had been hard but worth it.

 

Now the steps were literal-- Yuuri swayed, each step heavy awkward as he crossed the room, his arms held high by his side.

 

“Oh my god.” Viktor’s voice cracked, his eyes immediately filling with tears. He didn’t dare move until Yuuri’s fingers were pressed into his upper arms. 

 

“Hi.” Yuuri breathed, smiling like the sun.

 

“You… you can walk!”

 

“For a little bit. But, yeah.” Yuuri’s smile turned shy, his head bowing. “I wanted to surprise you.”

 

“You surprise me every day.” Viktor breathed, rubbing the tears from his cheeks.  “Good job.” His voice still shook as he took Yuuri’s lips in his.

 

“Do your parents know?” Viktor wished he had taken a video-- that Yuuri had made a bigger deal about it. But that wasn’t Yuuri, and it was a moment he would never forget either way.

 

“No…. I thought.. Since you’re here.. And since you’re so big into helping me...” Yuuri sounded shy, tracing patterns on Viktor’s chest. He still stood with a good part of his weight pressed against Viktor. He wasn’t graceful by any means, but it was more than Viktor had thought he could have ever prayed for.

 

“You can walk at home?” Viktor’s smile grew bigger. Hasetsu had become his second home, but it wasn’t analogous to the one in his dreams. They still slept in the banquet room downstairs, far away from Yuuri’s childhood bedroom.

 

“Yeah. I need to build my stamina.” Yuuri’s lips curled at the innuendo, but he left it at that. There were at least three workers watching from the desk and backroom, people Yuuri has gotten to know incredibly well.

 

 

 

The happy buzz lasted  all day-- renewed by Yuuri managing to walk from the doorway to the dining room and then to their bedroom. Stairs were still difficult, but Yuuri managed on his own two feet, rather than curled up in Viktor’s arms. 

 

The buzz immediately disappeared the minute Yakov’s name flashed across the screen of Viktor’s phone.

 

He had  _ just _ called the week before. Another call could mean something dire-- an injury, a sickness-- or it could be Yakov coming to get an answer.

 

“Hello.” Viktor’s tone came out cold without meaning to.

 

“Vitya. How are you doing?” Yakov's tone betrayed him-- he didn’t want to know, but he didn’t want to ignore formalities. Not anymore.

 

“Great. Yuuri is walking. Soon he’ll be back on the ice.” Viktor answered. The ice is another impossible goal. But anything seemed possible at the moment.

 

“Good. Speaking of the ice. I got you out of Russian Nationals, I got you out of Europeans.  But I have reached my end, Viktor.”

 

“I thought you were always at your end.“ Viktor forced a laugh, but the old Yakov is back. It was the end of him being soft.

 

“Your sponsors will not pay out until they get confirmation you are competing, Viktor.”

 

Viktor didn’t say anything. He didn’t have a chipper response. 

 

“I should be fine, the last payments---”

 

“There were none, Vitya. If you watched your accounts closely, you’d know.” 

 

“None of my cards were declined--”

 

“You’re thousands short for your rent. I can wait for my fees, but your landlord isn’t so sure.”

Viktor felt his throat close. Yuuri was clueless, tuning out the thick stream of Russian, tapping away at a mobile game on his phone. He might as well have been a world away.

 

“What do I do?” He was sure he could pick up a few students to coach at Ice Castle, but even full time work won’t cover Yakov’s fees.

 

“You compete in Worlds. You do well, reassure your sponsors. You figure out what you will be doing beyond the next day.”

 

Viktor had no idea what the next day would hold. Yuuri’s physical therapy, a homemade breakfast, a walk with their three poodles. Skating didn’t stand out from any of that.

 

But it was still the reason it all would end.

 

  
  


Yuuri caught him.

 

Viktor knew he should have pretended to be asleep. After all, it had passed midnight. It was more than likely 3 am. Yuuri was a night owl, and that was how late he usually stayed up in order to make his bi-weekly gaming tournaments from college friends back in America. Viktor was not a night owl-- he thrived in the morning, loved watching the sunrise, and his energy grew with it.

 

But he wasn’t awake so much as he wasn’t asleep. He had been up all night, pondering the words Yakov had drilled into him earlier that evening.

 

He hadn’t  even yelled. That meant it was bad.

 

Viktor was caught, watching Yuuri’s silhouette and its awkward sway as he walked into the room, the visual display of a body that didn’t quite listen to him.

 

“Sorry,” Yuuri whispered, freezing with his hands on the hem of his t-shirt. “Was I too loud?”

 

Viktor blinked. Figures Yuuri, king of nearsightedness, would notice Viktor watching him.

 

“No. I… I wasn’t sleeping anyway.” He swept his arm open, hoping for the weight of Yuuri to fill it. Instead, Yuuri shakily pulled his jeans off and left them on a pile on the floor. It drove Viktor crazy-- Makkachin loved to make a nest of them and lay on the laundry-- but one look at Yuuri and Viktor would drop it.

 

Hasetsu was still freezing in early March, and Viktor could tell that their room was the most heated despite his Russian blood.   Back in December Hiroko had rolled out a heated carpet, smoothed an electric blanket over their bed and had left a space heater to glow in the corner. Yuuri still hissed at the cold, wriggling into his pajamas made out of thick and soft fuzzy fabric that Viktor had only seen socks made out of.

 

All of Yuuri was soft, the mattress rolling with his weight as he laid down and snuggled against his side.

 

“What would we do if I retired?” The words flew out of Viktors mouth unheeded.

 

“Cry.” Yuuri said softly, his hair tickling Viktor’s skin. “Then kill you.”

 

Viktor laughed, but it didn’t sound very genuine.

 

“You promised me.” Yuuri’s voice was already so heavy with sleep. “You promised we would skate on the ice together.”

 

“I can still do that when I’m retired.” Viktor tried to keep his tone light.

 

“No,” Yuuri said simply, his cheek pressing against Viktor’s bare chest. “I didn’t work this hard to not compete against you.” Yuuri yawned, his fingers flexing against Viktor’s side.

 

Yuuri had decided for him… but after months next to Yuuri… Viktor wasn’t so sure he could survive another season without him.

 

 

Viktor dealt with his problems in one of two ways: ignore them, and throw money at them.

 

Neither of these worked with Yuuri.

 

And so, Viktor had two weeks until Worlds, less than twelve hours left until his flight to St. Petersburg, and three waking hours to pack. Somewhere in-between that Viktor had to figure out how to tell Yuuri.

 

He wasn’t looking forward to it.

 

The fact that Yuuri’s family was keeping him busy wasn’t helping either. Now that Yuuri was back on his feet, the target was building his stamina. He spent half of his time doing like work around Yuutopia and the other half was split between physical therapy and Viktor.

 

He stared at his suitcase laying open on his bed.  It was mostly empty-- Viktor couldn’t handle sorting through and remembering which socks were his and which were Yuuri's.  It only held the single suit he had packed from home, his team jacket and the safe travel charm Hiroko had bought him during their last shrine visit.

 

“Viktor?”

 

Viktors heart dropped. Yuuri stood in the doorway, clutching a neatly folded pile of laundry. His eyes instantly filled with tears.

 

“W-why are you leaving? What did I do wrong?” His voice shook, and Viktor felt like each of his cells were dropped into ice water.

 

“Yuuri--”

 

“What did I do? I promise, I’ll stop.”  Viktor crossed the room in an instant, and Yuuri’s head smacked the door frame as he took a shaky step backward. Viktor winced, reaching out, but then he hesitated. Yuuri hated being touched when he was upset, and although his recent hospital stint had worn out his aversion, it still wasn’t something to push.

 

“Yuuri, listen. You didn’t do anything. I just have to go back to Russia to train for Worlds. It was an ultimatum from Yakov, or I’ll lose my sponsors.”

 

“O-of course… What was I thinking?” Yuuri wiped at his cheeks, part of the laundry in his arms falling to the floor.

 

Viktor sighed, reaching out to cup Yuuri’s cheek in his hands. “It’ll only be a few--”

 

“I’m sorry... you wasted so much time and money on me. I can’t even remember your season assignments.”

 

Viktor bit his lip to keep the frustration back. “Yuuri, you’re letting your anxiety speak.”

 

“It’s true.” Tears still spilled down Yuuri’s cheeks with every blink. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“I…. I didn’t know how.”

 

“‘Yuuri, I need to go to Russia” would be a start.’” Yuuri muttered bitterly.

 

“I don’t want to.”

 

Realization dawned on Yuuri’s face. His red, puffy eyes lifted to meet Viktor’s.  “Do you want to retire?”

 

“No! Not until I skate with you!”

 

“Be  _ honest.”  _ Yuuri growled, even as new tears filled his eyes.

 

“I… forgot. I forgot about skating. “

 

“You skate everyday.” Yuuri was angry, which was better than hurt.

 

“Competing. It didn’t seem to matter as much as having dinner with you and your family… Seeing you walk again…Seeing you every night.”

 

“No. Stop.” Yuuri’s voice cracked. “This isn’t fair. You’re the reason I skate.”

 

“I’m not retiring.” Viktor gestured to his empty suitcase.

 

“But you want to. Because of me.”

 

“Because I’m happy?” Viktor forced a smile, lifting his arms in a shrug.

 

Yuuri threw the laundry in his arms at Viktor. The sleeve of a sweater smacked  Viktor in the face, before the entire pile fell uselessly to the floor.

 

“Yuuri--” Viktor leaned down to pick up the pile-- lifting was still a struggle for Yuuri-- but when Viktor looked up, he was gone.

 

 

“Mari, I messed up.” Viktor propped his head up on his hand, nursing a bottle of the house sake in the TV room. 

 

Mari only hummed, wiping down another table. Not closing until 10 pm sucked. “Yuuri did look pretty upset.”

 

“I can’t find him anywhere.”

 

“Well, he usually goes to Ice Castle, or for a run…” Mari sat up, frowning. Neither of those choices were in Yuuri’s current abilities. “Did you call him?”

 

“He left his phone.”

 

“Well, he’s an adult. And this is Hasetsu. You can’t go anywhere without someone seeing you.”

 

“You’re not helping,” Viktor sighed. The hours blurred into each other, and even as it got later, sleep evaded Viktor. The inn went quiet; the family duties done, the onsen closed and everyone retreating into their room for the night.

 

Minako’s voice broke the silence just past midnight. All three poodles were in the entryway, wagging their tails.  Viktor could be bitter that even Makkachin had abandoned him-- but he wasn’t. Makkachin merely shared the same love for Yuuri that her dad did.

 

“Hi darlings!  Mochi, my beautiful niece!” Minako cooed. Viktor moved in the hallway just in time to see her rest her hand on Yuuri’s shoulder.

 

“Okaeri, Yuuri.” Viktor felt his throat close at the last word. 

 

Hiroko had offered to drive him to the airport in the morning, but he couldn’t take the offer. He only had a few hours left with Yuuri before he left in a taxi… and he wasn't sure if he’d be welcomed back. 

 

Yuuri looked broken. He met Viktor’s eyes before stumbling into him, wrapping his arms around him.  Viktor clung to him— partly for the reassurance, partly because Yuuri was close to falling without him. 

 

“Viktor,”

 

“I’m so sorry, Yuuri,” Viktor interrupted. 

 

“I don’t know how to be  _ me _ without you.” 

 

Yuuri's voice cracked — he was an easy crier. Viktor had only just started crying freely. He wished they were watching a stupid romantic comedy and not dealing with life choices. 

 

“Don’t be silly Yuuri, you made it to the Grand Prix before I even realized you were real.”

 

“I’ve always wanted to skate on the same ice as you.”

 

“Well, you’re already walking…”

 

“Sharing the ice isn’t enough. I want to compete against you. In front of the whole world.”

 

Viktor blinked. “I’m not retiring, Yuuri.”

 

“But you want to. Because of me.  I’m angry, Viktor. I don’t want to waste all the time people spent cheering for me. I don’t want to give up.”

 

Viktor hugged Yuuri closer. Yuuri's drive went beyond looking up to Viktor, to his adolescence spent on the ice. 

 

Yuuri found love through the ice. Viktor had ignored love because of it. 

 

“I’m going to make you fall in love with skating.” 

 

Viktors lips curved into a helpless smile at the fire behind Yuuri's words.  He’d have as much luck denying Yuuri as he did denying Makkachin a space in bed. 

 

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Girl surprises prom date by walking/ visual for Yuuri walking:  
> https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutu.be%2FZpvLI0ZJCR8&h=AT0YOzcLZBllqiLcAjnkcnJkDvR5Tg59Se5R_iZw-7PvFNopncalh3vstqq6-x2_9bS_mRIsjdIFzztPjNeIzSwGXiScdtfBPBl7Z2ldhNrtOA1FGya63zXcDmVM3-UonuW59jyo12tSK1HqYIE


	14. You took my hand and held me close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love on the ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You took my hand and held me close Up All Night- Owl City

Even with fierce confessions and convictions, reality was still a cruel mistress. 

 

The last seat on Viktor’s plane was several hundred thousand yen out of budget. The only tickets that didn’t make Yuuri blanch at the cost only have them a day together before a second flight to France *. They settled on meeting the day before opening ceremonies, giving them nearly two full days together before Viktor stepped on the ice to perform. 

 

Yuuri woke up with the alarm, but didn’t get  up until well after the hired taxi arrived. Yuuri clung to Viktor, wrapped in his robe and coat (Viktor had another one at home, and he needed to see Yuuri in it more than he needed to be warm ). 

 

“You act like you won’t be seeing each other in a week and a half. Go, or you’ll be late.” Mari was the one to shove Viktor into the back seat, waving as she stood with her brother, who only watched, puffy eyed and clutching his coat around him, looking like his husband was going off to war. 

 

It almost felt like it- going off to a death sentence. Skating was an obligation now, not his life’s work. He didn’t even need to think hard about it. He still remembered the awful week he dreamed Makkachin eating steamed buns. Even the fictional threat of losing Makkachin-- of leaving Yuuri on such an important day-- had hurt him irrevocably. The last minute addition of Yuuri was like a band-aid on a bullet wound. 

Viktor called when he landed at Pulkovo, the energy he felt when he landed their the last time completely gone. He wasn't on his way to Yuuri. He was on his way to two weeks without him.

 

Yuuri answered right away, even though he was 6 hours ahead, and after more than 12 hours of traveling it was early morning at home in Hasetsu.  His head was resting on Makkachin’s belly, Mochi tucked under his chin, and Vicchan’s greying foot twitched against his ear. 

Viktor was instantly homesick-- for the dogpile, for Yuuri. For never being alone.

 

“Did I wake you up?”

 

“Mmm. I’ve been up.” Yuuri murmured. “Did you know hippo sweat is pink?”

 

Viktor laughed. “No, where does that come from?” His heart felt lighter just hearing Yuuri’s voice.

 

“Wikipedia. Life is boring without you here.”

 

“I’m counting the hours until you’re here,” Viktor admitted. Being honest with Yuuri was like breathing-- it was easy, most of the time. Viktor needed it, and Yuuri demanded it.  (Viktor missed Yuuri… whose metaphors never sounded as stupid as Viktor’s).

 

“Me too.” Yuuri blinked slowly, exhausted but fighting it. “You have to make it to the Final, okay?”

 

“Okay.

 

“Promise?” Yuuri’s voice shook with the ghost of anxiety.

 

“I promise.”

 

 

“You need to practice-- Vitya!” Laughter bubbled out of Yuuri, who squirmed and batted at Viktor, before grabbing at him violently a second later.  

 

“I am practicing. I’m on the ice!” Viktor pressed another kiss into Yuuri’s neck. He was wearing his awful beanie that he looked beautiful in, wrapped up in Viktor’s coat and scarf, full-length leg braces velcroed on over his jeans.

 

“You’re scaring me!” Yuuri laughed, smacking Viktor’s arm. His nose and ears were blushed pink, and Viktor’s jaw hurt from all the smiling he had done since Yuuri had arrived.

 

“Trust me. I have you.” Viktor pushed forward, trying to keep Yuuri’s skates on the ice. They weren’t the ones Yuuri usually wore-- which were now at the bottom of the Black Sea. They were rentals, scuffed and worn by scores of French people. French people who were no longer allowed in the arena, which had been reserved exclusively for Viktor Nikiforov.

 

“I need a walker,” Yuuri laughed, shaking as Viktor slowly slid across the ice. They were close to the boards, but hanging onto them was a memory decades in the past for both of them.

 

“I’m your walker,” Viktor sniffed. Yuuri was tense, only because keeping his balance on the ice was a thousand times harder than on hardwood floor. 

 

“It’s too late for a pair skate, Vitya,” Yuuri was doing pretty well-- staying on his feet  _ and  _  squeezing the blood out of Viktor’s arm.

 

“We would win gold.” Viktor skated around Yuuri so he was pressed against his front. Yuuri relaxed, resting his cheek against Viktor’s shoulder.

 

“I don’t need you to win gold.”

 

“Hm?” No one ever needed him to win gold. They expected him to.

 

“I just need you to place in the Final, okay?” Yuuri played with the zipper pull on Viktor’s jersey. Viktor frowned-- it was the third time it came up in conversation like this. But he was here for Yuuri.

 

“I will.”

 

 

Being several months out of practice meant strict diets and burning muscles. It meant exhaustion, missed plans and nights spent in hotels instead of sightseeing.

 

It meant this time, the audience surprised Viktor.

 

This time, instead of trying to sink his teeth into the medal and smile at the cameras, Viktor only thought of finding Yuuri’s face. He thought of the numbers in his bank account growing again.

 

He tried not to think of the other competitions he’d have to train for in order to fulfill his promise to Yuuri.

 

Viktor looped the gold medal around Yuuri’s neck the second he got close enough to him. His nose wrinkled, and he wrapped his fingers around the ribbon. 

 

“It’s yours.” Cameras flashed as Viktor leaned down to kiss Yuuri. He flushed, but didn’t say anything. 

 

“I like how it looks on you more.” Viktor reached out, rolling the collar of Yuuri’s blue jersey between his fingers. “What’s this?”

 

“The new team Japan uniform.” Yuuri worried his bottom lip, suddenly shy. “The JSF is here. They still haven’t taken me off their rosters.”

 

“Good.” Viktor smiled, running his fingers down the slippery fabric. “It suits you.”

 

 

“We should visit Detroit.” Viktor hummed, scrolling through another page of flight times.  “We can rent a Porsche or something.”

 

“Viktor, it’s like, a 9 hour drive,” Yuuri scoffed. Viktor pushed his laptop off to the side. “I want to see where you lived and trained.”

 

“Then we can fly there.” Yuuri grunted. “Yes, fly. I’m tired of trying to avoid planes.” Yuuri said at the look Viktor gave him.

 

“Airports are stressful enough--”

 

“I made it to France and back okay,” Yuuri pouted. Viktor frowned, but dropped it, dragging his toes up and down Yuuri’s leg. They were still on the same bed in the empty storage room on the main floor of Yuutopia.

 

“Yuuri, you need to take more iron. You’re worse than an old apple.” Viktor whined, twisting to run his hand up and down Yuuri’s bruised leg.

 

“I’m fine. We’re just trying new things in PT.” Yuuri muttered, pulling away from him. “Stop-- that tickles.”

 

“Yuuri, you never listen to me!” Viktor whined, burying his face into Yuuri’s stomach. October was still hot in Japan, even if it wasn’t the hell of July weather.

 

“Being the best skater in the world doesn’t mean you know physical therapy.” Yuuri said flatly, squirming under Viktor’s touch.

 

“It made me good enough to be your coach.” Viktor’s voice dropped, quiet enough just for Yuuri’s ears.

 

“In some universe.” Yuuri replied sounding...sad.

 

“Do you ever dream about it?” Viktor turned his head, his cheek resting on Yuuri’s soft belly.

 

“No. Not since the accident. Have you?”

 

Viktor hummed, closing his eyes in thought. “No. Not since I saw you at the rink.”

 

“When I was a ghost?”

 

Viktor opened his eyes. In the nearly year since the accident, they had not once broached the subject.  Viktor had figured that if Yuuri didn’t remember the crash, he wouldn’t remember the time he spent in a coma either.

 

“You’re only a ghost when you’re dead.” Viktor had a hard time wrapping his tongue around the words. It felt wrong, but it was the only way to describe it.

 

“You thought I was, didn’t you?” Yuuri’s voice was soft, and his fingers found the back of Viktor’s neck with a light touch.

 

“For a while. Then I found out you weren’t.”

 

“Yakov still worries about you.”  Yuuri’s fingers folded into a fist, resting against Viktor’s spine.

 

“I know.” Viktor couldn’t be entirely surprised that Yakov had told Yuuri. He had pulled Yuuri away for over an hour at Worlds, but Yuuri hadn’t acted differently. 

 

“I...still worry.” Yuuri’s words were barely a whisper.

 

“Don’t be. I’m happy.” Viktor lifted his head. Yuuri was staring at the ceiling, his eyes damp.

 

“But you still made the decision. Stuff like that doesn’t go away. I can tell, Vitya.”

 

Viktor slid up the length of Yuuri’s body, until he was nose-to nose with him.

 

“I didn’t decide to stay just because you’re alive, Yuuri.” Viktor breathed, watching the tears quiver and spill out of Yuuri’s eyes. “I decided to stay alive because I felt something. I was alive, and awake, and I wasn’t numb anymore.”

 

Viktor felt silly, pouring his heart out and comforting someone else-- but he felt grounded, Yuuri’s hand fisting into the fabric of his shirt, his wet cheeks pressing into his shoulder.

 

“I love you.”

 

Viktor blinked. “I love you too.” Four words, newly strung together.

 

He knew Yuuri loved him, but Yuuri didn’t ever say it so simply. His  _ I love you _ was in the way he said Vitya. How he made Viktor’s tea exactly the way he liked it. It was in his touch, and how he reached out for him in the morning. Viktor was the one to spout out endless I-love-yous, and Yuuri would respond with a kiss or flushed cheeks or a smile. It was just another way their puzzle fit together.

 


	15. Now I'm gonna be up all night

Viktor had spent the summer putting together  _ Stammi Vicino _ . Although he knew, in some other world, it truly belonged to him, he had only ever seen Yuuri skate it. Viktor’s Stammi Vicino was a homage, a call out to his Yuuri, too far away from him spinning on the ice.

 

It became Viktor’s second gold for this years qualifier, and the first one he felt like he deserved. Yuuri shook in the kiss and cry, doing both descriptors when Viktor stepped off the ice, breathless and buzzing with adrenaline.

 

“How will you top this at the Grand Prix Final?” was the question on everyone’s lips at the press conference. Viktor smiled, and shrugged. 

 

He had no idea. This season was the first reason he was skating for someone because he wanted to. He wasn’t in it to surprise anyone anymore. He was there because it was who he  _ was _ , and what tied Yuuri to him. It had been his hardest yet-- endless flights back and forth, weeks and odd days until Yuuri joined him, exhausted and drowsy from travel and anti-anxiety medication. He felt tired, but alive.

 

“Well,” Viktor leaned into the microphone. “We will just have to see. It seems like the Grand Prix is very important to my boyfriend.” Viktor smiled into the cameras.

 

 

“You’ve never been on a shinkansen?” Yuuri sounded entirely unenthused. A local from Hasetsu had already taken them an hour and a half, and he had figured Viktor would have gotten his fill of trains from that.

 

“Never. I would always fly directly into whatever city was hosting.” Viktor smiled, eyes shining as he took in the gigantic scrolling electric boards displaying the different arrivals and departures on the tracks.

 

“They feel like planes, really.” Before Celestino had taken Yuuri on, all of Yuuri’s competitions had been within a train ride’s distance. The government had subsidised some of the JR tickets after Yuuri’s first solid year of winning competitions. Before Detroit, Yuuri felt like he had been on every Kodama and Hikari between Hasetsu and Hokkaido.

 

“But bigger!  And with trees!” Viktor cooed, stopping to look at a box of  Amaou Strawberry-flavored Kit Kats. 

Yuuri continued toward the escalators that led to the train tracks their train would be leaving from. He had insisted on seperate suitcases, which made it harder to hold Viktor’s hand-- but he followed faithfully, always noticing when Yuuri  drifted too far away from him.

 

“We should take a vacation on a train for your birthday,” Viktor hummed as Yuuri set their suitcases to the side and pulled out a few coins to feed into a vending machine. 

 

“Are you a train otaku now?” Yuuri smiled, rolling his eyes. He handed Viktor a small, hot can of corn consomme soup, holding his own metal bottle of hot cocoa to himself. Viktor’s eyes lit up-- it was a different brand than they had in Hasetsu. Viktor bought a can every time they passed it-- which happened frequently enough that when Hiroko made corn korokke for dinner, Yuuri tasted Viktor instead.

 

“I’m just excited.” Viktor popped open the can. The train station, like most buildings in Japan, was unheated. Except for the occasional hanging space heater, it was just as cold as the outdoors, especially up on the tracks. Yuuri fidgeted with his bottle, twisting the cap back and forth. “I’m glad you don’t have to go on a plane. That the final is in Japan.”

 

Yuuri stopped. “Hm?” He tilted his head to the side. Viktor flushed. “It’s about the time of the crash, you know? It’s been a year.”

 

Yuuri froze, his eyes glazing over with deep thought. “It is?”

 

Russian news had already began reporting on it. Viktor had seen Hiroko throw another interview request into the burnable garbage can. It was a Russian tragedy, but a personal miracle.

 

“Wow…” Yuuri whispered, tapping the metal bottle in his hands. “I guess… I forgot. Everything is so different, I just got used to it.”

 

Viktor wrapped his hands around Yuuri’s, rubbing his thumb against Yuuri’s skin. The scars and skin grafts on Yuuri’s arms had  started to fade. Though he fumbled with buttons still, he could feed himself-- walk a mile beside Viktor. Months of long hard days of physical therapy had paid off.

 

“You don’t have to think about it.” Viktor said, the words sharper than he meant them to be. He took Yuuri’s phone when he went to pull it out of his pocket. 

 

“I should, a lot of---”

 

“Yes, a lot of people died. A lot of strangers. But you didn’t.”  Viktor winced. Yuuri stared at him, his beautiful eyebrows pressed together-- confused. Hurt.

 

“I know, Vitya.” He said, his voice thick.  _ Is there something you’re not telling me? _

 

Yuuri didn’t need to know. He didn’t need to see the comments Viktor had read. Hundreds of people wondering why God decided to save a foreign athlete and not the child visiting her grandparents. Wondering what was so special about Yuuri, about his seat-- why he survived, and no one else.

 

Yuuri wouldn't know-- because he’d start to wonder too. Wonder more than he did before. He’d question it. 

 

Viktor didn’t have an answer. It would be terribly unfair to attribute it to Viktor needing him. It would be selfish, and put the weight of a hundred lives on their relationship.

 

Viktor wasn’t the only one who loved Yuuri. He definitely wasn’t the only one who needed him desperately.

 

“I’m sorry for bringing it up.” Viktor turned toward the light board, searching for their departure time. Trains arrived and left in under 6 minutes.

 

“I’m not going to look at news articles or anything.” Yuuri muttered, taking his phone back from Viktor’s palm.  The whole event felt like a distant memory-- like he had taken the whole experience and handed it off to someone else. He only remembered feeling panic at the whine of jet engines, his body remembering more than his conscious mind.

 

“I trust you.” Viktor tossed his half-empty can into the closest recycling box. The unpleasant memories had soured his appetite. Yuuri leaned into him, the pressure of his body weight comforting. He smelled like mint-- Viktor’s own shampoo-- and the strongly floral train station hand soap. Whatever Yuuri indulged in always ended up comforting Viktor too, as if they were built for each other.

 

The day of his short program, Viktor was a wreck.

 

He had been a good athlete-- he had followed Yakov’s diet plan to a T, and practiced for hours after Yakov arrived (on a discount red-eye flight to save money). But Yuuri was distracted. Instead of watching Viktor, he was  on his phone. When they arrived for opening ceremonies, they barely made it two steps before another person stopped to greet them. Yuuri was the star in an event he wasn’t competing in, in a sport he hadn’t participated in over a year. But it wasn’t that Yuuri was popular-- it was that Yuuri wasn’t watching Viktor’s love song to him. It was that Yuuri wasn’t a 100% there. He hummed with a nervous energy that sat just underneath his skin. One that he didn't say a word about, even when Viktor endlessly asked if he was okay.

Yuuri only smiled innocently, shaking his head and placating him with a kiss.

 

He dreaded skating when Yuuri looked ready to bolt from the rinkside. He was bundled up, his cheeks rosy and soft against Viktor’s scarf wound around his neck too many times. Yakov was his normal self- barking out reminders and admonitions not to try anything stupid or embarass him. Viktor turned, waiting for his good-luck kiss, a tradition that had begun earlier that season.

 

Yuuri wasn’t looking at him. Viktor had to touch his arm, ground him before he realized he was there. He pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, before he stepped back, out of Viktor’s reach.

 

He skated to the middle of the ice, jilted. He lifted his arms into the starting pose for his free skate, a song called ‘O’ by a British band Yuuri had introduced to him. He waited, pulling from his inward ability to perform no matter what. But the music didn’t start, and there was a mechanical clunk as the spotlight designed to follow him across the ice switched off.

 

Viktor grit his teeth, but kept his beginning pose. He’d make history, alright-- this was the first time any technical difficulties had happened at an international event like this. A second light clicked on-- opposite of Viktor. His arms dropped as the kiss and cry-- and Yuuri lit up.

 

He was a sight-- a spectre. He glowed, ethereal and unworldly-- his gauzy and flowy costume floating around him as he slid across the ice.

 

His costume fluttered as he managed an upright spin, his feet moving in and out in a Choctaw step.  Viktor felt his teeth chatter and his vision blur with tears. He blinked quickly, not wanting to miss a second. He was shaking-- just as much as Yuuri when he slid into him.

 

“Hi,” Yuuri whispered, staring up at  Viktor his back pressed against Viktor’s hammering heart.

 

“You said no pair skates.” Viktor sobbed, grinning so wide he was sure the media would catch his crooked tooth.

 

“Mhmmm.” Yuuri turned, his hands shaking so violently that he struggled to hold onto Viktor. “Help me?”

 

“Help you what? You just skated, Yuuri!” Viktor’s voice was too loud-- his emotions were too big for his body, and he didn’t care-- he had an Olympic sized arena to hold it!

 

“Help, please.” Yuuri let go, Viktor’s arms immediately going to his waist. He finally noticed Yuuri’s white-knuckle grip on the velvet box in his left hand.

 

“Yuuri. Yuuri, Yuu-ri,” Viktor sobbed, feeling stupid as he rubbed as the tears streaming down his cheeks.  He couldn’t even look at the box, just at Yuuri, who was sticking his tongue out as he focused on sliding it open.

 

“We’re gonna be here all night!” Phichit yelled from the rinkside. Yuuri’s hands steadied, and he managed to pluck the gold ring from the white cushion. He sunk, Viktor following him as he shakily bent onto his knee.

 

“W-will you stay by my side? And, um, marry me?” Yuuri stuttered,  his lips shaking in a nervous and terribly sweet smile.

 

Viktor couldn’t speak-- words were lost on him, not enough to answer or hold everything he wanted them to. Instead, he pulled Yuuri forward, pressing their lips together. He poured everything he felt into the kiss-- reassured when Yuuri’s knees went weak, and they sat on the ice wrapped around each other.

 

“Yuuri--yes, yes, I will, forever-- Yuuri, how did you do this?” Viktor gasped when Yuuri finally pulled back, threading the ring onto his hand.

 

“We were missing an international scandal.” Yuuri flushed, his cheeks wet with tears Viktor hadn’t noticed until that second. “I’m still Japan’s ace, you know.” He whispered, hooking a finger into the gold cording on the front of Viktor’s costume.

 

The roaring of the crowd was just as loud as the roaring of blood in Viktor’s ears.

 

“Sorry--you’ll actually skate last tonight. “ Yuuri said sheepishly, Viktor sprinkling his face with kisses.

 

“I could skate a thousand times. I feel amazing. I’m going to be up all night.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! Thank you so much for your comments and feedback so far. <3


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